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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINIANA 

ENDOWED  BY 

JOHN  SPRUNT  HILL 

CLASS  OF  1889 


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B724-f.6 


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©Asrnisnj  is®®ss'3aQ 


BOONE'S  FIRST  VIEW  OF  KENTUCKY. 


^  Fair  was  the  scene  that  lay  Flowers  of  the  fairest  dyes, 

Before  the  little  band,  Trees  clothed  in  richest  green; 

Which  paused  upon  its  toilsome  way,  And  brightly  smiled  thedeep-blu«  iki'^l* 
To  view  this  new  found  land.  O'er  this  enchanting  scene. 

Field,  stream  and  valley  spread,  Such  was  Kentucky  then, 

Far  as  the  eye  could  f^aze,  W^ith  wild  luxuriance  blest; 

With  summer's  beauty  o'er  them  shed,  Where  no  invading  hand  had  been. 
And  sunlight's  brightest  rays.  Th«  garden  of  the  West." 


THE 


FIRST  WHITE  MAN   OF  THE 

WEST, 

OR   THE 

LIFE    AND    EXPLOITS    OF 

COL.  DAN'L.  BOONE, 

THE  FIRST  SETTLER  OF  KENTUCKY  ; 

INTERSPERSED  WITH    INCIDENTS 
IN  THE 

EARLY    ANNALS    OF    THE    COUNTRY, 


BY    TIMOTHY    FLINT. 


CINCINN-ATI : 
APPLEGATE    &   COMPANY, 

43    MAIN     STREET. 

1856. 


Eiiteied  according  to  act  of  Congress,  io  the  year  1847 y  by 
GEORGE  CONCLIN 
Ml  tlie  Clerk's  OOice  of  the  District  Court  of  tlie  District  cf  Ofiio, 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER  I. 

Birth  of  Daniel  Boone — His  early  propensities — His  pranks  at  schoo\ 
— His  first  hunting-  expedition — And  his  encoiuiter  with  a  panther. 
Removal  of  llie  family  to  North  Carolina — Boone  becomes  a  hunter 
— Description  of  fire  hunting,  in  which  he  was  near  committing  a 
sad  mistaike — Its  fortunate  result — and  his  marriage. 

CHAPTER  II. 

Boone  removes  to  the  head  waters  of  the  Yadkin  river — He  msets 
with  Finley,  who  had  crossed  the  mountains  into  Tennessee — They 
agree  to  explore  the  wilderness  W3st  of  the  AUeghanies  together. 

CHAPTER    III. 

Boone,  with  Finley  and  others,  start  on  their  exploring  expedition — 
Boone  kills  a  panther  in  the  night — Their  progress  over  the  moun- 
tains— They  descend  into  the  great  valley — Description  of  the  uew 
country — Herds  of  buifaloes—Their  wanderings  in  tlie  wilderness. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

The  exploring  party  divide  into  different  routes — Boone  and  Stewait 
taken  prisoners  by  the  Indians,  and  their  escape — Boone  meets  with 
his  elder  brother  and  another  white  man  in  the  woods — Stewart  kil- 
'ed  by  the  Indians,  and  the  companion  of  the  elder  Boone  destroyed 
by  wolves — The  elder  brother  returns  to  North  Carolina,  leaving 
Boone  alone  in  the  wilderness. 

CHAPTER   V. 

Boone  is  pui-sued  by  tlie  Indians,  and  eludes  their  pursuit — He  encoun- 
ters and  kills  a  bear — The  return  of  his  brother  with  ammunition — 
They  explore  tlie  country — Boone  kills  a  panther  on  the  back  of  a 
buffalo — They  return  to  Nortli  Carolina. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

Boone  starts  with  iiis  family  to  Kentucky — Their  return  to  Clinch  river 

He  conducts  a  party  of  surveyors  to  the  Falls  of  Ohio — He  helps 

build  Boonesborough,  and  removes  his  family  to  the  fort — His  daugh- 
ter and  two  of  Col.  Calloway's  daughters  taken  prisoners  by  the 
Indians — They  pursue  the  Indians  and  rescue  the  captives. 

^  CHAPTER  VII. 

^  Settlement  of  Harrodsburgh — Indian  mode  of  besieguig  and  warfare- 

^  Fortitude  and  privation  of  the  Pioneers — The  Indians  attack  Har 

V  rodsburgh    and    Boonesborough — Description  of  a   Station — Attack 

r\,,  of  Bryant's  Station. 

V 


CONTENta. 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

Boone  being  attacked  by  nvo  Indians  near  the  Blue  Licks,  kills  them 
both — Is  afterwards  taken  prisoner  zind  marched  to  Old  Chillicothe 
-Is  adopted  by  the  Indians — Indian  ceremonies. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Boone  becomes  a  favorite  among  the  Indians — Anecdotes  relating  to  hi* 
captivity — Their  mode  of  tormenting  and  burning  prisoners — Theii 
fortitude  under  the  infliction  of  torture — Concerted  attack  on  Boones- 
borough — Boone  escapes. 

CHAPTER  X. 

Six  hundred  Indians  attack  Boonesborough — Boone  and  Captain 
Smith  go  out  to  treat  with  the  enemy  under  a  flag  of  truce,  and 
are  extricated  from  a  treacherous  attempt  to  detain  them  as  pri- 
soners— Defence  of  the  fort — The  Indians  defeated — Boone  goe^ 
to  North  Carolina  to  bring  back  his  family. 

CHAPTER    XL 

A  dcctch  of  the  character  and  adventures  of  several  other  pioneers — 
Harrod,  Kenton,  Logan,  Ray,  McAffee,  and  others. 

CHAPTER   XII. 

Boone's  brother  killed,  and  Boone  himself  narrowly  escapes  from  th« 
Indians — Assault  upon  Ashton's  station — and  upon  the  station  neai 
Shelby ville — Attack  upon  McA£?ee's  station. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Disastrous  battle  near  the  Blue  Licks — General  Clarke's  expedition 
against  the  Miami  towns — Massacre  of  McClure's  family — The 
horrors  of  Indian  assaults  tPiroughout  the  settlements — General 
Harmcii's  expedition — Defeat  of  General  St.  Clair — Gen.  Wayne's 
victory,  and  a  final  peace  with  the  Indians. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Rejoicings  on  account  of  the  peace — Boone  indulges  his  propensity  foi 
hunting — Kentucky  increases  in  population — Some  account  of  theii 
conflictiiig  land  titles — Progress  of  civil  improvement  destroying  the 
range  of  the  hunter — Litigation  of  land  titles — Boone  loses  his  lands—' 
Removes  from  Kentucky  to  the  Kanawha — Leaves  the  Kanawha  and 
goes  to  Missouri,  where  he  is  appointed  Commandant. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Anecdotes  of  Colonel  Boone,  related  by  Mr.  Aijc'ubon — A  remarkabla 
instance  of  memory. 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

Progress  of  improvement  in  Missouri — Old  age  of  Boone— Death  of  hit 
wife — He  goes  to  reside  with  his  son — His  death — His  personal  ap- 
paartince  and  character. 


PREFACE. 


Our  eastern  brethren  have  entered  heartily  into  the 
pious  duty  of  bringing  to  remembrance  the  character  and 
deeds  of  their  forefathers.  Shall  we  of  the  west  allow 
the  names  of  those  great  men,  who  won  for  us,  from  the 
forest,  the  savages,  and  wild  beasts,  our  fair  domain  of 
fertile  fields  and  beautiful  rivers,  to  fade  into  oblivion? 
They  who  have  hearts  to  admire  nobility  imparted  by  na- 
ture's great  seal — fearlessness,  strength,  energy,  saga- 
city, generous  forgetfulness  of  self,  the  delineation  of 
scenes  of  terror,  and  the  relation  of  deeds  of  daring,  will 
not  fail  to  be  interested  in  a  sketch  of  the  life  of  the  pio- 
neer and  hunter  of  Kentucky,  Daniel  Boone.  Contem- 
plated in  any  light,  we  shall  find  him  in  his  way  and  walk, 
a  man  as  truly  great  as  Penn,  Marion,  and  Franklin,  in 
theirs.  True,  he  was  not  learned  in  the  lore  of  bocks, 
or  trained  in  the  etiquette  of  cities.  But  he  possesst^d  a 
knowledge  far  more  important  in  the  sphere  which  Provi- 
dence called  him  to  fill.  He  felt,  too,  the  conscious  digni- 
ty of  self-respect,  and  would  have  been  seen  as  erect, 
firm,  and  unembarrassed  amid  the  pomp  and  splendor  of 
the  proudest  court  in  Christendom,  as  in  the  shade  of  his 
own  wilderness.  Where  nature  in  her  own  ineffaceable 
characters  has  marked  superiority,  she  looks  down  upon 
the  tiny  and  elaborate  acquirements  of  art,  and  in  all  po- 
sitions and  in  all  time  entitles  her  favorites  to  the  involun- 
tary homage  of  their  fellow-men.  '  They  are  the  selected 
pilots  in  storms,  the  leaders  in  battles,  and  the  pioneers 
in  the  colonization  of  new  countries. 


PREFACE. 

Such  a  man  was  Daniel  Boone,  and  wonderfully  was  he 
endowed  by  Providence  for  the  part  which  he  was  called 
to  act.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  undervalue  the  advantages 
of  education:  It  can  do  every  thing  but  assume  the  pre- 
rogative of  Providence.  God  has  reserved  for  himself  the 
attribute  of  creating.  Distinguished  excellence  has  never 
been  attained,  unless  where  nature  and  education,  native 
endowment  and  circumstances,  have  concurred.  This 
wonderful  man  received  his  commission  for  his  achieve 
ments  and  his  peculiar  walk  from  the  sign  manual  of  na 
ture.  He  was  formed  to  be  a  woodsman,  and  the  adven 
turous  precursor  in  the  first  settlement  of  Kentucky.  His 
home  was  in  the  woods,  where  others  were  bewildered 
and  lost.  It  is  a  mysterious  spectacle  to  see  a  man  pos- 
sessed of  such  an  astonishing  power  of  being  perfectly  fa- 
miliar with  his  route  and  his  resources  in  the  depths  of  the 
untrodden  wilderness,  where  others  could  as  little  divine 
Iheir  way,  and  what  was  to  be  done,  as  mariners  on  mid- 
ocean,  without  chart  or  compass,  sun,  moon,  or  stars.  But 
that  nature  has  bestowed  these  endowments  upon  some 
men  and  denied  them  to  others,  is  as  certain  as  that  she 
has  given  to  some  animals  instincts  of  one  kind,  fitting 
them  for  peculiar  modes  of  life,  which  are  denied  to  others, 
perhaps  as  strangely  endowed  in  another  way. 

The  following  pages  aim  to  present  a  faithful  picture 
of  this  singular  man,  in  his  wanderings,  captivities,  and 
escapes.  If  the  effort  he  successful,  we  have  no  fear  that 
the  attention  of  the  reader  will  wander.  There  is  a  charm 
in  such  recitals,  which  lays  its  spell  upon  all.  The  grave 
and  gay,  the  simple  and  the  learned,  the  young  and  gray- 
haired  alike  yield  to  its  influence. 

We  wish  to  present  him  in  his  strong  incipient  manifes- 
tations of  the  development  of  his  peculiar  character  in 
boyhood.     We  then  see  him  on  foot  and  alone,  wim  no 


PREFACE. 

companion  but  his  dog,  and  no  friend  but  his  rifle,  making 
his  way  over  trackless  and  unnamed  mountains,  and  im 
measurable  forests,  until  he  explores  the  flowering  wil- 
derness of  Kentucky.  Already  familiar,  by  his  own  pe- 
culiar intuition,  with  the  Indian  character,  we  sec  him 
casting  his  keen  and  searching  glance  around,  as  the  an- 
cient woods  rung  with  the  first  strokes  of  his  axe,  and 
pausing  from  time  to  time  to  see  if  the  echoes  have  star- 
tled the  red  men,  or  the  wild  beasts  from  their  lair.  We 
trace  him  through  all  the  succeeding  exploraticns  of  the 
Bloody  Ground,  and  of  Tennessee,  until  so  many  immi- 
grants hav-e  followed  in  his  steps,  that  he  finds  his  privacy 
too  strongly  pressed  upon;  until  he  finds  the  buts  and 
bounds  of  legal  tenures  restraining  his  free  thoughts,  and 
impelling  him  to  the  distant  and  unsettled  shores  of  the 
Missouri,  to  seek  range  and  solitude  anew.  We  see  him 
there,  his  eyes  beginning  to  grow  dim  with  the  influence 
of  seventy  winters — as  he  can  no  longer  take  the  unerring 
aim  of  his  rifle — casting  wistful  looks  in  the  direction  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains  and  the  western  sea;  and  sadly  re* 
minded  that  man  has  but  one  short  life,  in  which  to  wander. 
No  book  can  be  imagined  more  interesting  than  would 
have  been  the  personal  narrative  of  such  a  man,  written 
by  himself.  What  a  new  pattern  of  the  heart  he  might 
have  presented!  But,  unfortunately,  he  does  not  seem  to 
have  dreamed  of  the  chance  that  his  adventures  would  go 
down  to  posterity  in  the  form  of  recorded  biography.  We 
suspect  that  he  rntlier  eschewed  books,  parchment  deeds, 
and  clerkly  contrivances,  as  forms  of  evil;  and  held  the 
dead  letter  of  little  consequence.  His  associates  were  as 
little  likely  to  preserve  any  records,  but  those  of  memory, 
of  the  daily  incidents  and  exploits,  which  indicate  charac- 
ter and  assume  high  interest,  when  they  relate  to  a  person 
like  the  subject  of  this  narrative.    These  hunters,  unerring 


in  their  aim  to  prostrate  the  buffalo  on  his  plain,  or  to  bring 
down  the  geese  and  swans  from  the  clouds,  thought  little 
of  any  other  use  of  the  gray  goose  quill,  than  its  market 
value. 

Had  it  been  otherwise,  and  had  these  men  themselves 
furnished  the  materials  of  this  narrative,  we  have  no  feai 
that  it  would  go  down  to  futurity,  a  more  enduring  monu- 
ment to  these  pioneers  and  hunters,  than  the  granite  col- 
umns reared  by  our  eastern  brethren,  amidst  assembled 
thousands,  with  magnificent  array,  and  oratory,  and  songs, 
to  the  memory  of  their  forefathers.  Ours  would  be  the 
record  of  human  nature  speaking  to  human  nature  in  sim- 
plicity and  truth,  in  a  language  always  impressive,  and 
always  understood.  Their  pictures  of  their  own  felt  suffi- 
ciency to  themselves,  under  the  pressure  of  exposure  and 
want  J  of  danger,  wounds,  and  captivity  j  of  reciprocal  kind- 
ness, warm  from  the  heart  j  of  noble  forgetfulness  of  self, 
unshrinking  firmness,  calm  endurance,  and  reckless  bra- 
very, would  be  sure  to  move  in  the  hearts  of  their  readers 
strings  which  never  fail  to  vibrate  to  the  touch. 

But  these  inestimable  data  are  wanting.  Our  materi- 
als are  comparatively  few  j  and  wc  have  been  often  obliged 
to  balance  between  doubtful  authorities,  notwithstanding 
the  most  rigorous  scrutiny  of  newspapers  and  pamphlets, 
whose  yellow  and  dingy  pages  gave  out  a  cloud  of  dust  at 
every  movement,  and  the  equally  rigid  examination  of 
clean  modern  books  and  periodicals. 


LIFE  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

B"rth  of  Daniel  Boone — His  early  propensities — His  pranks  at  school 
— His  first  hunting  expedition — And  his  encounter  with  a  panther. 
Removal  of  the  family  to  North  Carolina — Boone  becomes  a  hunter 
— Description  of  fire  hunting,  in  which  he  was  near  committing  a 
sad  mistake — Its  fortunate  result — and  his  marriage. 

Different  authorities  assign  a  different  birth 
place  to  Daniel  Boone.  One  affirms  that  he  was 
born  in  Maryland^  another  in  North  Carolina,  ano- 
ther in  Virginia,  and  still  another  during  the  transit 
of  his  parents  across  the  Atlantic.  But  they  are  all 
equally  in  error.  He  was  born  in  the  year  1746, 
in  Bucks  county,  Pennsylvania,  near  Bristol,  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Delaware,  about  twenty  miles 
from  Philadelphia.  His  father  removed,  when  he 
was  three  years  old,  to  the  vicinity  of  Reading,  on 
the  head  waters  of  the  Schuylkill.  From  thence, 
when  his  son  was  thirteen  years  old,  he  migrated  to 
North  Carolina,  and  settled  in  one  of  the  valleys  of 
South  Yadkin. 

The  remotest  of  his  ancestors,  of  whom  there  is 

ary  recorded  notice,  is  Joshua  Boone,  an   English 

11 


V2  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONB 

Catholic.  He  crossed  the  Atlantic  t  ne  shores  eft 
the  Chesapeake  Bay,  with  those  who  planted  the 
first  germ  of  the  colony  of  Maryland.  A  leading 
motive  to  emigration  with  most  of  these  colonists, 
was  to  avoid  that  persecution  on  account  of  thei:  re- 
ligion, which  however  pleasant  to  inflict,  they  found 
it  uncomfortable  to  endure.  Whether  this  gentleman 
emigrated  from  this  inducement,  as  has  been  asser- 
ted, or  not,  it  is  neither  possible,  nor,  as  we  deem, 
important  to  settle;  for  we  cannot  find,  that  religious 
motives  had  any  direct  influence  in  shaping  the 
character  and  fortunes  of  the  hero  of  the  woods. 
Those  who  love  to  note  the  formation  of  character, 
and  believe  in  the  hereditary  transmission  of  pecu- 
liar qualities,  naturally  investigate  the  peculiarities 
of  parents,  to  see  if  they  can  find  there  the  origin  of 
those  of  the  children.  Many — and  we  are  of  the 
number— consider  transmitted  endowment  as  the 
most  important  link  in  the  chain  of  circumstances, 
with  which  character  is  surrounded.  The  most 
splendid  endowments  in  innumerable  instances,  have 
never  been  brought  to  light,  in  defect  of  circumstan- 
ces to  call  them  forth.  The  ancestors  of  Boone  were 
not  placed  in  positions  to  prove,  whether  he  did  or 
did  not  receive  his  peculiar  aptitudes  a  legacy  from 
his  parents,  or  a  direct  gift  from  nature.  He  pre- 
sents himself  to  us  as  a  new  man,  the  author  and  arti- 
ficer of  his  own  fortunes,  and  showing  from  the  be- 
ginning rudiments  of  character,  of  which  history  has 
recorded  no  trace  in  his  ancestors.  The  promise  of 
the  future  hunter  appeared  in  his  earliest  boyhood. 
He  wagc'l  a  war  of  extermination,  as  soon  as  he 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  i3 

•;oula  poise  a  gun,  with  squirrels,  racoons,  and  wild 
cats,  at  that  time  exceedingly  annoying  to  the  fields 
and  barn-yards  of  the  back  settlers. 

No  sCioiar  ever  displayed  more  decided  pre-emi 
nence  in  any  branch  of  learning,  than  he  did  above 
the  boys  of  his  years,  in  adroitness  and  success  in 
this  species  of  hunting.  This  is  the  only  distinct 
and  pecuHar  trait  of  character  recorded  of  his  early 
years.  The  only  transmitted  fact  of  his  early  train- 
ing is  presented  in  the  following  anecdote. 

In  that  section  of  the  frontier  settlement  to  which 
Boone  had  removed,  where  unhewn  log  cabins,  and 
hewn  log  houses,  were  interspersed  among  the  burnt 
stumps,  surrounded  by  a  potato  patch  and  cornfield, 
as  the  traveller  pursued  his  cow-path  through  the 
deep  forest,  there  was  an  intersection,  or  more  prop- 
erly concentration  of  wagon  tracks,  called  the 
"Cross  Roads," — a  name  which  still  designates  a 
hundred  frontier  positions  of  a  post  oflSce,  black- 
smith's shop,  and  tavern.  In  the  central  point  of 
this  metropolis  stood  a  large  log  building,  before 
which  a  sign  creaked  in  the  wind,  conspicuously  let- 
tered "Store  and  Tavern." 

To  this  point,  on  the  early  part  of  a  warm  spring 
morning,  a  pedestrian  stranger  was  seen  approaching 
in  the  path  leading  from  the  east.  One  hand  was 
armed  with  a  walking  stick,  and  the  other  carried  a 
small  bundle  inclosed  in  a  handkerchief.  His  aspect 
was  of  a  man,  whose  whole  fortunes  were  in  his 
walking  stick  and  bundle.  He  was  observed  to  eye 
tne  swinging  sign  with  a  keen  recognition,  inspiring 

2 


14  LIFE    or    DANIEL    BOONE. 

Buch  courage  as  the  mariner  feels  on  entering  the 
desired  haven. 

His  dialect  betrayed  the  stranger  to  be  a  native, 
of  Ireland.  He  sat  down  on  the  stoup,  and  asked  in 
his  own  pecuHar  mode  of  speech,  for  cold  water.  A 
supply  from  the  spring  was  readily  handed  him  in  a 
gourd.  But  with  an  arch  pause  between  remon- 
strance and  laughter,  he  added,  that  he  thought  cold 
water  in  a  warm  climate  injurious  to  the  stomach 
and  begged  that  the  element  might  be  qualified  witl: 
a  little  whisky. 

The  whisky  was  handed  him,  and  the  usual  con- 
versation ensued,  during  which  the  stranger  inquired 
if  a  school-master  was  wanted  in  the  settlement — or, 
as  he  was  pleased  tc  phrase  it,  a  professor  in  the 
nigher  branches  of  learning?  It  is  inferred  that  the 
father  of  Boone  was  a  person  of  distinction  in  the 
settlement,  for  to  him  did  the  master  of  the  "Store 
and  Tavern"  direct  the  stranger  of  the  staff  and 
bundle  for  information. 

The  direction  of  the  landlord  to  enable  him  to 
find  the  house  of  Mr.  Boone,  was  a  true  specimen 
of  similar  directions  in  the  frontier  settlements  of  the 
present;  and  they  have  often  puzzled  clearer  heads 
than  that  of  the  Irish  school-master. 

"Step  this  way,"  said  he,''and  I  will  direct  you 
there,  so  that  you  cannot  mistake  your  way.  Turn 
down  that  right  hand  road,  and  keep  on  it  till  you 
cross  the  dry  branch — then  turn  to  your  left,  and  go 
up  a  hill — then  take  a  lane  to  your  right,  which  will 
bring  you  to  an  open  field — pass  this,  and  you  will 
come  to  a  path  with  three   forks — take  the  middle 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  15 

fork,  and  it  will  lead  you  through  the  woods  in  sight 
of  Mr.  Boone's  plantation." 

The  Irishman  lost  his  way,  invoked  the  saints,  and 
cursed  his  director  for  his  medley  of  directions  many 
a  time,  before  he  stumbled  at  length  on  Mr.  Boone'a 
house.  He  was  invited  to  sit  down  and  dine,  in  the 
simple  backwoods  phrase,  which  is  still  the  passport 
to  the  most  ample  hospitality. 

After  dinner,  the  school-master  made  known  his 
vocation,  and  his  desire  to  find  employment.  To 
obtain  a  qualified  school-master  in  those  days,  and  in 
such  a  place,  was  no  easy  business.  This  scarcity 
of  supply  precluded  close  investigation  of  fitness.  In 
a  word,  the  Irishman  was  authorized  to  enter  upon 
the  office  of  school-master  of  the  settlement.  We 
have  been  thus  particular  in  this  description,  because 
it  was  the  way  in  which  most  teachers  were  theo 
employed. 

It  will  not  be  amiss  to  describe  the  school-house; 
for  it  stood  as  a  sample  of  thousands  of  west  coun  y 
school-houses  of  the  present  day.  It  was  of  lo  '^, 
after  the  usual  fashion  of  the  time  and  place,  ^n 
dimension,  it  was  spacious  and  convenient.  Tl  '^ 
chimney  was  peculiarly  ample,  occupying  one  entire 
side  of  the  whole  building,  which  was  an  exact 
square.  Of  course,  a  log  could  be  "snaked"  to  the 
fire-place  as  long  as  the  building,  and  a  file  of  boys 
thirty  feet  in  length,  could  all  stand  in  front  of  the 
fire  on  a  footing  of  the  most  democratic  equality. 
Sections  of  logs  cut  out  here  and  there,  admitted 
light  and  air  instead  of  windows.  The  surrounding 
forest  furnished  ample  supplies  of  fuel,     A  spring  at 


16  LIFE    OF    DAN1*:L    BOONE 

hand,  furnished  with  various  gourds,  quenched  the 
frequent  thirst  of  the  pupils.  A  ponderous  punch- 
eon door,  swinging  on  substantial  wooden  hinges,  and 
shutting  with  a  wooden  latch,  completed  the  appen- 
dages of  this  primeval  seminary. 

To  this  central  point  might  be  seen  wending  from 
the  woods,  in  every  direction  of  the  compass,  flaxen- 
headed  boys  and  girls,  clad  in  homespun,  brushing 
away  the  early  dews,  as  they  hied  to  the  place, 
where  the  Hibernian,  clothed  in  his  brief  authority, 
sometimes  perpetrated  applications  of  birch  without 
rhyme  or  reason;  but  m.uch  oftener  allowed  his  au- 
thority to  be  trampled  upon,  according  as  the  severe 
or  loving  humor  prevailed.  This  vacillating  admin- 
istration was  calculated  for  any  result,  rather  than 
securing  the  affectionate  respect  of  the  children. 
Scarcely  the  first  quarter  had  elapsed,  before  mate- 
rials for  revolt  had  germinated  under  the  very  throne 
of  the  school-master. 

Young  Boone,  at  this  time, had  reached  the  second 
stage  of  teaching  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot.  Ilia 
satchel  already  held  paper  marked  with  those  myste- 
rious hieroglyphics,  vulgarly  called  pot-hooks^  inten- 
ded to  be  gradually  transformed  to  those  clerkly 
characters,  which  are  called  hand-writing. 

The  master's  throne  was  a  block  of  a  huge  tree, 
and  could  not  be  said,  in  any  sense,  to  be  a  cushion 
of  down.  Of  course,  by  the  time  he  had  heard  the 
first  lessons  of  the  morning,  the  master  was  accustom- 
ed to  let  loose  his  noisy  subjects,  to  wanton  and 
bound  on  the  grass,  while  he  took  a  turn  abroad  to 
refresh  himself  from  his  wearying  duties.     Wliile  ho 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    noONE. 


17 


was  thus  unbending  his  mind,  the  observant  urchins 
had  remarked,  that  he  always  directed  his  walk  to  a 
deep  grove  not  far  distant.  They  had,  possibly, 
divined  that  the  unequal  tempers  of  his  mind,  and 
his  rapid  transitions  from  good  nature  to  tyrannical 
moroseness,  and  the  reverse,  were  connected  with 
these  promenades.  The  curiosity  of  young  Boone 
had  been  partially  excited.  An  opportunity  soon 
oirered  to  gratify  it. 

Having  one  day  received  the  accustomed  permis- 
sion to  retire  a  few  minutes  from  school,  the  darting 
of  a  squirrel  across  a  fallen  tree,  as  he  went  abroad, 
awakened  his  ruhng  passion.     He  sprang  after  the 
nimble  animal,  until  he  found  himself  at  the  very 
spot,  where  he  had  observed  his  school-master  to 
pause  in  his  promenades.     His  attention  was  arres- 
ted by  observing  a  kind  of  opening  under  a  little 
arbor^  thickly  covered  with  a  mat  of  vines.     Think- 
ing, perhaps,  that  it  was  the  retreat  of  some  animal, 
he  thrust  in  his  hand,  and  to  his  surprise  drew  forth 
a  glass  bottle,  partly  full  of  whisky.     The  enigma 
of  his  master's  walks  and  inequalities  of  temper  stood 
immediately  deciphered.     After  the  reflection  of  a 
moment,  he  carefully  replaced  the  bottle  in  its  posi- 
lion,  and  returned  to  his  place  in  school.     In  the 
evening  he   communicated  his  discovery  and  the  re- 
sult of  his  meditations  to  the  larger  boys  of  the  school 
on  their  way  home.     They  were  ripe  for  revolt,  and 
the  issue  of  their  caucus  follows: 

They  were  sufficiently  acquainted  with  fever  and 
ague,  to  have  experimented  the  nature  of  tartar 
emetic.     Tliev  procured    a  bottle   exactly  like  th(f 


18  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

master's,  filled  with  whisky,  in  which  a  copious  ({uat]< 
tity  of  emetic  had  been  dissolved.  Early  in  the 
morning,  they  removed  the  school-masters  bottle, 
and  replaced  it  by  theirs,  and  hurried  back  to  their 
places,  panting  with  restrained  curiosity,  and  a  de- 
sire to  see  what  results  would  come  from  their  med» 
ical  mixture. 

The  accustomed  hour  for  intermission  came.  The 
master  took  his  usual  promenade,  and  the  chiklreo 
hastened  back  with  uncommon  eagerness  to  resume 
their  seats  and  their  lessons.  The  countenance  of 
the  master  alternately  red  and  pale,  gave  portent  of 
an  approaching  storm. 

"Recite  your  grammar  lesson,"  said  he,  in  a  grow 
ling  tone,  to  one  of  the  older  boys. 

"How  many  parts  of  speech  are  there?" 

"Seven,  sir,"  timidly  answered  the  boy. 

"Seven,  you  numscull!  is  that  the  way  you  get 
your  lesson?"  Forthwith  descended  a  shower  of 
blows  on  his  devoted  head. 

"On  what  continent  is  Ireland?"  said  he,  turning 
from  him  in  wrath  to  another  boy.  The  boy  saw 
the  shower  pre-determined  to  fall,  and  the  medicine 
giving  evident  signs  of  having  taken  effect.  Before 
lie  could  answer,  "I  reckon  on  the  continent  of  Eng- 
land," he  was  gathering  an  ample  tithe  of  drubbing. 

"Come  and  recite  your  lesson  in  arithmetic?"  said 
he  to  Boone,  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  The  usually 
nibicund  face  of  the  Irishman  was  by  this  time  a 
deadly  pale.  Slate  in  hand,  the  docile  lad  presert- 
ed  himself  before  his  master. 

"Take  six  from  nine,nnd  what  remain.«*'* 


\AVE    OF    HANIEL    ROONEr  19 

**Truc.     Thai  will   answer  for  whole  numbers, 

now  for  your  frtictions.     Take  three-quarters  from 

an  integer,  and  what  rennains?" 

"The  whole.'' 

"You  blockhead!  you  nuujscull!"  exclaimed  the 

master,  as  the  strokes  fell  like  a  hail  shower;  "let 

me  hear  you  demonstrate  that.'** 

"If  I  subtract  one  botCle  of  whisky,  and  replace 
it  with  one  in  which  I  have  mixed  an  emetic,  will 
not  the  whole  remain,  if  nobody  drinks  it?" 

By  this  time  the  medicine  was  taking  fearful  ef- 
fect. The  united  acclamations  and  shouts  of  the 
children,  and  the  discovery  of  the  compounder  of 
his  medicament,  in  no  degree  tended  to  soothe  the 
infuriated  master.  Young  Boone,  having  paid  for 
his  sport  by  an  ample  drubbing,  seized  the  oppor- 
tune moment,  floored  his  master,  already  weak  and 
dizzy,  sprang  from  the  door,  and  made  for  the  woods. 
The  adventure  was  soon  blazoned.  A  consultation 
of  the  patrons  of  the  school  was  held.  Though 
vounf^  Boone  was  reprimanded,  the  master  was  dis- 
missed. 

This  is  all  tlie  certain  information  we  possess, 
touching  the  training  of  young  Boone,  in  the  lore  of 
l)Ooks  and  schools.  Though  he  never  afterwards 
could  be  brought  lack  to  the  restraint  of  the  walls 
of  a  school,  it  is  well  known,  that  in  some  w^ay,  in 
after  life,  he  possessed  himself  of  the  rudiments  of  a 
common  education.  His  love  for  hunting  and  the 
woods  now  became  an  absorbing  passion.  He  pos- 
sessed a  dog  and  a  fowling  piece,  nnd  with  these  he 


'20  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    EOONE» 

would  r»nge  whole  days  alone  through  the  woods-, 
often  with  no  other  apparent  objeety  than  the  simple 
pleasure  of  these  lonely  wanderings. 

One  morning  he  was  observed  as  usual,  to  throw 
the  band,  that  suspended  his  shot  bag,  over  one 
shoulder,  and  his  gun  over  the  other,  and  go  forth 
accompanied  by  his  dog.  Night  came,  but  to  the 
astonishment  and  alarm  of  his  parents,  the  boy,  as 
yet  scarcely  turned  of  fourteen,  came  not.  Another 
day  and  another  night  came,  and  passed,  and  still 
he  returned  not.  The  nearest  neighbors,  sympa- 
thizing with  the  distressed  parent*,  who  considered 
him  lost,  turned  out,  to  aid  in  searching  for  him. 
After  a  long  and  weary  search,  at  a  distance  of  a 
league  from  any  plantation,  a  smoke  was  seen  ari- 
sing from  a  temporary  hovel  of  sods  and  branchea, 
in  which  the  astonished  father  found  his  child,  appa- 
rently most  comfortably  established  is  his  new  ex- 
periment of  house-keeping.  Numerous  skins  of  wild 
animals  were  stretched  upon  his  cabin,  as  trophies 
of  his  hunting  prowess.  Ample  fragments  of  their 
flesh  were  either  roasting  or  preparing  for  cookery. 
It  may  be  supposed,  that  such  a  lad  would  be  the 
theme  of  wonder  and  astonishment  to  the  other  boys 

of  his  age. 

At  this  early  period,  he  hesitated  not  to   hunt 

wolves,  and  even  bears  and  panthers.     His  exploits 

of  this  kind  were  the  theme  of  general  interest  in 

the  vicinity.     Many  of  them  are  recorded.     But  we 

pass  over  most  of  them,  in  our  desire  to  hasten  to 

the  exploits  of  his  raaturer  yeari.     We  select  a  sin- 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  21 

gle  one  of  the  most  unquestionable  character,  as  a 
sample  for  the  rest. 

In  company  with  some  of  his  young  companions 
he  undertook  a  hunting  excursion,  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  settlements.  Near  night-fall,  the 
group  of  young  Nimrods  were  alarmed  with  a  sharp 
cry  from  the  thick  woods.  A  panther!  whispered 
the  alFrighted  lads,  in  accents  scarcely  above  thei' 
breath,  through  fear,  that  their  voice  would  betra 
them.  The  scream  of  this  animal  is  harsh,  and 
grating,  and  one  of  the  most  truly  formidable  of 
forest  sounds. 

The  animal,  when  pressed,  does  not  shrink  from 
encountering  a  man,  and  often  kills  him,  unless  he 
is  fearless  and  adroit  in  his  defence.  All  the  com- 
panions of  young  Boone  fled  from  the  vicinity,  as 
fast  as  possible.  Not  so  the  subject  of  our  narra- 
tive. He  coolly  surveyed  the  animal,  that  in  turn 
eyed  him,  as  the  cat  does  a  mouse,  when  preparing 
to  spring  upon  it.  Levelling  his  rifle,  and  taking 
deliberate  aim,  he  lodged  the  bullet  in  the  heart  o< 
the  fearful  animal,  at  the  very  moment  it  was  in  the 
act  to  spring  upon  him.  It  was  a  striking  instance 
of  that  peculiar  self-possession,  which  constituted 
the  most  striking  trait  in  his  character  in  after  life. 

Observing  these  early  propensities  for  the  life  of 
a  hunter  in  his  son,  and  land  having  become  dear 
and  game  scarce  in  the  neighborhood  where  he  lived, 
Boone's  father  formed  the  design  of  removing  to  re- 
mote forests,  not  yet  disturbed  by  Ihe  sound  of  tlie 
axe,  or  broken  by  frequent  clearings;  and  having 
heard  a  good  account  of  the  country  bordering  upon 


LIFE    OF    PANIKI-    ROONF.  53 

tlic  Ycidkiii  river,  in  North  Carolina,  he  resolved  to 
remove  thither.  This  river,  which  is  a  stream  of 
considerable  size,  has  its  source  among  the  moun- 
tains in  the  north-east  part  of  North  Carolina,  and 
puisuesa  beautiful  meandering  course  through  that 
state  until  it  enters  South  Carolina.  After  watering 
the  eastern  section  of  the  latter  state,  it  reaches  the 
ocean  a  few  miles  above  the  mouth  of  the  Santee. 

Having  sold  his  plantation,  on  a  fine  April  morn- 
ing he  set  forth  for  the  land  of  promise — wife,  chil- 
dren, servants,  flocks,  and  herds,  forming  a  patriar- 
chal caravan  through  the  wilderness.     No  procession 
bound  to  the  holy  cities  of  Mecca  or  Jerusalem, 
was  ever  more  joyful;  for  to  them  the  forest  was  an 
asyluni.     Overhung  by  the  bright  blue  sky,  envelo- 
ped in  verdant  forests  full  of  game,  nought  cared 
they  for  the  absence  of  houses  with  their  locks  and 
latches.     Their  nocturnal  caravansary  was  a  clear 
cool  spring;  their  bed  the  fresh  turf.     Deer  and  tur- 
keys furnished  their  viands — hunger  the  richest  sau- 
ces of  cookery;  and  fatigue  and  untroubled  spirits  a 
repose  unbroken  by  dreams.     Such  were  the  primi- 
tive migrations  of  the  early  settlers  of  our  country. 
We  love  to  meditate  on  them,  for  we  have  shared 
them.     We  have  fed  from  this  table  in  the  wilder- 
ness.    We  have  shared  this  mirth.     We  have  heard 
the  tinkle  of  the  bells  of  the  flocks^  and  herds  gra- 
zing among  the  trees.     We  have  seen  the  moon 
rise  and  the  stars  twinkle  upon  this  forest  scene;  and 
the  remembrance  has  more  than  once  marred  llic 
pleasure  of  journeyings  in  the  midst  of  civilization 
w".d  i]\(-  refinements  of  luxury. 


24  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

The  frontier  country  in  which  the  family  settled 
was  as  yet  an  unbroken  forest;  and  being  at  no  grcal 
distance  from  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Alleghanies, 
in  the  valleys  of  which  game  was  abundant,  it  af- 
forded fine  range  both  for  pasture  and  hunting. 
These  forests  had,  moreover,  the  charm  of  novelty, 
and  the  game  had  not  yet  learned  to  fear  the  rifles 
of  the  new  settlers.  It  need  hardly  be  added  that 
the  spirits  of  young  Boone  exulted  in  this  new  hun- 
ter's paradise.  The  father  and  the  other  sons  s(^ttled 
down  quietly  to  the  severe  labor  of  making  a  farm, 
assigning  to  Daniel  the  occupation  of  his  rifle,  aa 
aware  that  it  was  the  only  one  he  could  be  indu- 
ced to  follow;  and  probably  from  the  experience, 
that  in  this  way  he  could  contribute  more  effectually 
to  the  establishment,  than  either  of  them  in  the  pur 
suits  of  husbandry. 

An  extensive  farm  was  soon  opened.  The  table 
was  always  amply  supplied  with  venison,  and  was 
the  seat  of  ample  and  unostentatious  hospitality. 
The  peltries  of  the  young  hunter  yielded  all  the 
money  which  such  an  estabhshment  required,  and 
the  interval  between  this  removal  and  the  coming 
of  age  of  young  Boone,  was  one  of  health,  plenty, 
and  privacy. 

But  meanwhile  this  settlement  began  to  experi- 
ence the  pressure  of  that  evil  which  Boone  always 
considered  the  greatest  annoyance  of  life.  The 
report  of  this  family's  prosperity  had  gone  abroad. 
The  young  hunter's  fame  in  his  new  position,  at- 
tracted other  immigrants  to  come  and  fix  them- 
gelves  in  the  vicinity.     Tiie  smoke  of  new  cabins 


LIFK  OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  25 

«ind  clearings  went  up  to  the  sky.  The  baying  of 
other  doiis.  and  the  crash  of  distant  falUng  trees 
begari  ro  be  heard;  and  painful  presentiments  al- 
ready filled  the  bosom  of  young  Boone,  that  this 
abode  would  shortly  be  more  pressed  upon  than 
that  he  had  left.  He  was  compelled,  however,  to 
jidmit,  that  if  such  an  order  of  things  brings  disad- 
rantagcs,  it  has  also  its  benefits. 

A  thriving  farmer,  by  the  name  of  Bryan,  had  set- 
tled at  no  great  distance  from  Mr.  Boone,  by  whose 
establishment  the  young  hunter,  now  at  the  period 
of  life  when  other  thoughts  than  those  of  the  chase 
of  wild  game  are  sometimes  apt  to  cross  the  mind, 
was  accustomed  to  pass. 

This  farmer  had  chosen  a  most  beautiful  spot  for 
his  residence.  The  farm  occupied  a  space  of  some 
hundred  acres  on  a  gentle  eminence,  crested  with 
yellow  poplars  and  laurels.  Around  it  rolled  a  moun- 
tain stream.  So  btautifui  was  the  position  and  so 
many  its  advantages,  that  young  Boone  used  often 
to  pause  in  admiration,  on  his  way  to  the  deeper 
woods  beyond  the  verge  of  human  habitation.  Who 
can  say  that  the  same  dreamy  thoughts  that  inspi- 
red the  pen  of  the  eloquent  Rousseau,  did  not  occupy 
the  mind  of  the  young  hunter  as  he  passed  this  rural 
abode?  We  hope  we  shall  not  be  suspected  of  a 
wish  to  offer  a  t£ile  of  romance,  as  we  relate,  how 
the  mighty  hunter  of  wild  beasts  and  men  was  him- 
selfsubdued,  and  that  by  the  most  timid  and  gentle 
of  beiTgs.  We  put  down  the  facts  as  we  find  them 
recorded,  and  our  conscience  is  quieted,  by  finding 


26  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE» 

them  perfectly  natural  to  the  time,  place,  and  cir- 
cumstances. 

Young  Boone  was  one  night  engaged  in  a  fire 
huntj  with  a  young  friend.  Their  course  led  them 
to  the  deeply  timbered  bottom  that  skirted  the  stream 
/hich  wound  round  this  pleasant  plantation.  That 
he  reader  may  have  an  idea  what  sort  of  a  pursuit 
.t  was  that  young  Boone  was  engaged  in,  during  an 
event  so  decisive  of  his  future  fortunes,  we  present 
a  brief  sketch  of  a  night  ^re  hunt.  Two  persona 
are  indispensable  to  it.  The  horseman  that  pre- 
cedes, bears  on  his  shoulder  what  is  called  a  fire 
pan,  full  of  blazing  pine  knots,  which  casts  a  bright, 
and  flickering  glare  far  through  the  forest.  The 
second  follows  at  some  distance,  with  his  rifle  prepa 
red  for  action.  No  spectacle  is  more  impressive 
than  this  of  pairs  of  hunters,  thus  kindling  the  for- 
est into  a  glare.  The  deer,  reposing  quietly  in  his 
thicket,  is  awakened  by  the  approaching  cavalcade, 
and  instead  of  flying  from  the  portentous  brilliance, 
remains  stupidly  gazing  upon  it,  as  if  charmed  to 
the  spot.  The  animal  is  betrayed  to  its  doom  by 
the  gleaming  of  its  fixed  and  innocent  eyes.  This 
cruel  mode  of  securing  a  fatal  shot,  is  called  in  huih 
"•er's  phrase,  shining  the  eyes. 

The  two  young  men  reached  a  corner  of  the  far- 
mer's field  at  an  early  hour  in  the  evening.  Young 
Boone  gave  the  customary  signal  to  his  mounted 
companion  preceding  him,  to  stop,  an  indication 
that  he  had  shined  the  eyes  of  a  deer.  Boone  dis- 
mounted, and  fastened  his  horse  to  a  tree.  Ascer- 
taining thi^t  his  rifle  was  in  order,  he  advanced  ca«- 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    UOONE.  27 

tiously  behind  a  covert  of  bushes,  to  reach  the  right 
distance  for  a  shot.  Tlic  deer  is  rennarkable  for  the 
beauty  of  its  eyes  when  tlius  shined»  The  mild 
brilhance  of  the  two  orbs  was  distinctly  visible. 
Whether  warned  by  a  presentiment,  or  arrested  by 
Ji  palpitation,  and  strange  feelings  within,  at  noting 
a  new  expression  in  the  blue  and  dewy  lights  that 
gleamed  to  his  heart,  we  say  not.  But  the  unerring 
rifle  fell,  and  a  rustling  told  him  that  the  game  had 
fled.  Something  whispered  him  it  was  not  a  deer; 
and  yet  the  fleet  step,  as  the  game  bounded  away, 
might  easily  be  mistaken  for  that  of  the  light-footed 
animal.  A  second  thought  impelled  him  to  pursue 
the  rapidly  retreating  game;  and  he  sprang  away 
in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  leaving  his  companion 
to  occupy  himself  as  he  might.  The  fugitive  had 
the  advantage  of  a  considerable  advance  of  him,  and 
apparently  a  better  knowledge  of  the  localities  of 
the  place.  But  the  hunter  was  perfect  in  all  his 
field  exercises,  and  scarcely  less  fleet  footed  than  a 
deer;  and  he  gained  rapidly  on  the  object  of  his 
pursuit,  which  advanced  a  little  distance  parallel 
with  the  field-fence,  and  then,  as  if  endowed  with 
the  utmost  accomplishment  of  gymnastics,  cleared 
the  fence  at  a  leap.  The  hunter,  embarrassed  with 
his  rifle  and  accoutrements,  was  driven  to  the  slow 
and  humiliating  expedient  of  climbing  it.  But  an 
outline  of  the  form  of  the  fugitive,  fleeting  through 
the  shades  in  the  direction  of  the  house,  assured 
him  that  he  had  mistaken  the  species  of  the  game. 
His  heart  throbbed  from  a  hundred  sensations;  and 
among  them  an  apprehension  of  the  consequences 


;J8  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

that  would  have  resulted  from  discharging  his  rifle, 
when  he  had  first  shined  those  hquid  blue  eyes. 
Seeing  that  the  fleet  game  made  straight  in  the 
direction  of  the  house,  he  said  to  himself,  "I  will 
see  the  pet  deer  in  its  lair;"  and  he  directed  his 
steps  to  the  same  place.  Half  a  score  of  dogs 
opened  their  barking  upon  him,  as  he  approached 
the  house,  and  advertised  the  master  that  a  strange 
was  approaching.  Having  hushed  the  dogs,  an 
learned  the  name  of  his  visitant,  he  introduced  hin 
to  his  family,  as  the  son  of  their  neighbor,  Boone. 

Scarce  had  the  first  words  of  introduction  been 
uttered,  before  the  opposite  door  opened,  and  a  boy 
apparently  of  seven,  and  a  girl  of  sixteen,  rushed,  io, 
panting  for  breath  and  seeming  in  affright. 

"Sister  went  down  to  the  river,  and  a  painter 
chased  her,  and  she  is  almost  scared  to  death,"  ex- 
claimed the  boy. 

The  ruddy,  flaxen-haired  girl  stood  full  in  view  of 
her  terrible  pursuer,  leaning  upon  his  rifle,  and  sur- 
veying her  with  the  most  eager  admiration.  "Re- 
becca, this  is  young  Boone,  son  of  our  neighbor," 
was  their  laconic  introduction.  Both  were  young, 
beautiful,  and  at  the  period  when  the  affections  exer- 
cise their  most  energetic  influence.  The  circum- 
stances of  the  introduction  were  favorable  to  the 
result,  and  the  young  hunter  felt  that  the  eyes  of  the 
deer  had  shined  his  bosom  as  fatally  as  his  rifle  shot 
had  ever  the  innocent  deer  of  the  tliickets.  She, 
too,  when  she  saw  the  high,  open,  bold  forehead; 
clear,  keen,  and  yet  gentle  and  affectionate  eye 
—  -the  firm  front,  and  the  visible  impress  of  decision 


LIFE   Op    DANIEL    BOONE.  29 

and  fearlessness  of  the  hunter — when  she  interpreted 
a  look,  which  said  as  distinctly  as  looks  could  say  it, 
'how  terrible  it  would  have  been  to  have  fired  1" 
can  hardly  be  supposed  to  have  regarded  him  with 
indifference.  Nor  can  it  be  wondered  at  that  she 
saw  in  him  her  heau  ideal  of  excellence  and  beauty. 
The  inhabitants  of  cities,  who  live  in  mansions,  and 
read  novels  stored  with  unreal  pictures  of  life  and 
the  heart,  are  apt  to  imagine  that  love,  with  all*  its 
golden  illusions,  is  reserved  exclusively  for  them.  It 
is  a  most  e^resrious  mistake.  A  model  of  ideal 
beauty  and  perfection  is  woven  in  almost  every 
youthful  heart,  of  the  brightest  and  most  brilliant 
threads  that  compose  the  web  of  existence.  It  may 
not  be  said  that  this  forest  maiden  was  deeply  and 
foolishly  smitten  at  first  sight.  All  reasonable  time 
and  space  were  granted  to  the  claims  of  maidenly 
modesty.  As  for  Boone,  he  was  incurably  wounded 
by  her,  whose  eyes  he  had  shined,  and  as  he  was  re- 
markable for  the  backwoods  attribute  of  never  being 
beaten  out  of  his  tracks  he  ceased  not  to  woo,  until  he 
gained  the  heart  of  Rebecca  Bryan.  In  a  word,  he 
fourt**J^  htiT  successfully,  and  they  were  married. 

3* 


:<o 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 


CHAPTER    II. 


Boone  removes  to  the  head  waters  of  tiie  Yadkin  river — He  meets  with 
Finley,  who  had  crossed  the  mountains  into  Tennessee — They  agroi 
to  explore  the  wilderness  west  of  the  Alleghanies  together. 

After  his  marriage,  Boone's  first  step  was  to  con 
sider  where  he  should  find  a  place,  in  which  he  could 
unite  the  advantages  of  fields  to  cultivate,  and  range 
for  hunting.  True  to  the  impulse  of  his  nature,  he 
plunged  deeper  into  the  wilderness,  to  realize  this 
dream  of  comfort  and  happiness.  Leaving  his  wife, 
he  visitod  the  unsettled  regions  of  North  Carolina, 
and  selected  a  spot  near  the  head  waters  of  the  Yad- 
kin, for  his  future  home. 

The  same  spirit  that  afterwards  operated  to  take 
Mrs.  Boone  to  Kentucky,  now  led  her  to  leave  her 
fiiends,  and  follow  her  husband  to  a  region  where 
she  was  an  entire  stranger.  Men  change  their 
place  of  abode  from  ambition  or  interest;  women 
from  affection.  In  the  course  of  a  few  months,  Dan- 
iel Boone  had  reared  comfortable  cabins  upon  a 
pleasant  eminence  at  a  little  distance  from  the  river 
bank,  inclosed  a  field,  and  gathered  around  him  the 
means  of  abundance  and  enjoyment.  His  dwelling, 
though  of  rude  exterior,  offered  the  weary  traveller 
shelter,  a  cheerful  fire,  and  a  plentiful  board,  graced 
with  the  most  cordial  welcome.  The  faces  that 
looked  on  him  were  free  from  the  cloud  of  care,  the 
constraint  of  ceremony,  and  the  distrust  and  fear, 
with  which  men   learn  to  regard  one  another  in  the 


UfE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  31 

midst,  of  the  rivalry,  competition,  and  scraini)le  of 
populous  cities.  The  spoils  of  the  chase  gave  vari- 
ety to  his  table,  and  afforded  Boone  an  excuse  for 
devoting  his  leisure  hours  to  his  favorite  pursuit. 
The  country  around  spread  an  ample  field  for  its 
exercise,  as  it  was  almost  untouched  by  the  axe  of 
the  w^oodsman. 

The  lapse  of  a  few  years — passed   in  the  useful 
and  unpretending  occupations  of  the  husbandman — 
brought  no  external  change  to  Daniel  Boone,  deser 
ving  of  record.     His  step  was  now  the  firm  tread  of 
sober  manhood;  and  his  purpose  the  result  of  matu- 
red reflection.     This  influence  of  the  progress  of 
time,  instead  of  obliterating  the  original  impress  of 
his  character,  only  sunk  it  deeper.     The  dweliing« 
of  immigrants  were  springing  up  in  all  directions 
around.     Inclosures  again  began  to  surround  him 
on  every  hand,  shutting  him  out  from  his  ace  iistomed 
haunts  in  the  depths  of  the  forest  shade.     He  saw 
cultivated   fields   stretching  over   large  extents  of 
country;  and  in  the  distance,  villages  and  towns;  and 
was  made  sensible  of  their  train  of  forms,  and  laws, 
and   restrictions,  and  buts,  and   bounds,  gradually- 
approaching  his  habitation.     He  determined  again 
to  leave  them  far  behind.     His  resolve  was  made, 
t)ut  he  had  not  decided  to  what  point  he  would  turn. 
Circumstances  soon  occurred  to  terminate  his  inde- 
cision. 

As  early  as  1760,  the  country  west  of  the  Cum- 
berland mountains  was  considered  by  the  inhabitants 
of  Carolina  and  Virginia,  as  involved  in  something 
o[  the  same  obscurity  wLich  lay  over  tlie  American 


3*i  WFE   OF    DANIKL    BOONJr. 

continent,  after  its  first  discovery  by  Columbus. 
Those  who  spread  their  sails  to  cross  the  sea.  and 
find  new  skies,  a  new  soil,  and  men  in  a  new  world, 
were  not  deemed  more  daring  by  their  brethren  at 
home,  than  the  few  hardy  adventiirers,  who  struck 
into  the  pathless  forests  stretching  along  the  frontie? 
settlements  of  the  western  country,  were  estimated 
by  their  friends  and  neighbors.  Even  the  most  in- 
formed and  intelligent,  where  information  and  in- 
telligence were  cultivated,  knew  so  little  of  the  im- 
mense extent  of  country,  now  designated  as  the 
"Mississippi  Valley,"  that  a  book,  published  near 
the  year  1800,  in  Philadelphia  or  New  York,  by  a 
writer  of  talent  and  standing,  speaks  of  the  mani^ 
mouths  of  the  Missouri,  as  entering  the  Mississippi 
far  below  the  Ohio, 

The  simple  inmates  of  cabins,  in  the  remote  re- 
gion bordering  on  tlie  new  country,  knew  still  less 
about  it;  as  they  had  not  penetrated  its  wilderness, 
and  v/ere  destitute  of  that  general  knowledge  which 
prevents  the  exercise  of  the  exaggerations  of  vague 
conjecture.  There  was,  indeed,  ample  room  for  the 
indulgence  of  speculation  upon  the  features  by 
which  the  unexplored  land  was  characterized.  It* 
mountains,  plains,  and  streams,  animals,  and  men, 
were  yet  to  be  discovered  and  named.  It  might  be 
found  the  richest  land  under  the  sun,  exhaustlcss  in 
fertility,  yielding  the  most  valuable  productions,  and 
unfailing  in  its  resources.  It  was  possible  it  would 
prove  a  sterile  desert.  Imagination  could  not  but 
expatiate  in  this  unbounded  field  and  unexplored  wil- 
derness; and  there  are  few  persons  entirely  secure 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    UOONE.  33 

trom  the  influence  of  imagina.tion.  The  real  dan- 
ger attending  the  first  exploration  of  a  country  tilled 
with  wild  animals  and  savages;  and  the  difliculty  of 
carrying  a  sutlicient  supply  of  ammunition  to  pro- 
cure food,  during  a  long  journey,  necessarily  made 
on  foot,  had  prevented  any  attempt  of  the  kind. 
The  Alleghany  mountains  had  hitherto  stood  an  un 
surmounted  barrier  between  the  Atlantic  country 
and  the  shores  of  the  beautiful  Ohio, 

Not  far  from  this  period,  Dr.  Walker,  an  intelli- 
gent and  enterprising  Virginian,  collected  a  small 
party,  and  actually  crossed  the  mountains  at  the 
Cumberland  Gap,  after  traversing  Powell's  valley. 
One  of  his  leading  inducements  to  this  tour,  was  the 
hope  of  making  botanical  discoveries.  The  party 
crossed  Cumberland  river,  and  pursued  a  north-east 
course  over  the  highlands,  which  give  rise  to  the 
sources  of  the  lesser  tributaries  of  the  important 
streams  that  water  the  Ohio  valley.  They  reached 
Uig  Sandy,  after  enduring  the  privations  and  fatigue 
incident  to  such  an  undertaking.  From  this  point 
they  commenced  their  return  home.  On  reaching 
t,  they  showed  no  inclination  to  resume  their  at 
tempt,  although  the  information  thus  gained  respec- 
ting the  country,  presented  it  in  a  very  favorable 
light.  These  first  adventurers  wanted  the  hardi- 
nood,  unconquerable  fortitude,  and  unwavering  pur- 
pose, which  nothing  but  death  could  arrest,  that 
marked  the  pioneers,  who  followed  in  their  footsteps. 
Some  time  elapsed  before  a  second  exploring  ex- 
pedition was  set  on  foot.  The  relations  of  what 
these  men  had  seen  on  the  other  side  of  the  monn- 


34  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

tains  had  assumed  the  form  of  romance,  rather  than 
reality.  Hunters,  alone  or  in  pairs,  now  ventured 
to  extend  their  range  into  the  skirts  of  the  wilder- 
ness, thus  gradually  enlarging  the  sphere  of  definite 
conceptions,  respecting  the  country  beyond  it. 

In  1767,  a  backwoodsman  of  the  name  of  Finley, 
of  North  Carolina,  in  company  with  a  few  kindred 
spirits  resembling  him  in  character,  advanced  still 
farther  into  the  interior  of  the  land  of  promise.  It 
is  probable,  they  chose  the  season  of  flowers  for  their 
enterprise;  as  on  the  return  of  this  little  band,  a  de- 
scription of  the  soil  they  had  trodden,  and  the  sights 
they  had  seen,  went  abroad,  that  charmed  all  ears, 
excited  all  imaginations,  and  dwelt  upon  every 
tongue.  Well  might  they  so  describe.  Their  course 
lay  through  a  portion  of  Tennessee.  There  is  noth- 
ing grand  or  imposing  in  scenery — nothing  striking 
or  picturesque  in  cascades  and  precipitous  declivities 
of  mountains  covered  with  woods — nothing  roman- 
tic and  delightful  in  deep  and  sheltered  valleys, 
through  which  wind  clear  streams,  which  is  not 
found  in  this  first  region  they  traversed.  The  moun- 
tains here  stretch  along  in  continuous  ridges — and 
there  shoot  up  into  elevated  peaks.  On  the  sum- 
mits of  some,  spread  plateaus,  which  afford  the  most 
commanding  prospects,  and  offer  all  advantages  for 
cultivation,  overhung  by  the  purest  atmosphere.  No 
words  can  picture  the  secluded  beauty  of  some  of 
the  vales  bordering  the  creeks  and  small  streams, 
which  dash  transparent  as  air  over  rocks,  moss-cov- 
ered and  time-worn — walled  in  by  the  precipitou? 


T.IFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  35 

sides  of  mountains,  down  which  pour  numhcrlcss 
waterfalls. 

The  soil  is  rich  beyond  any  tracts  of  the  same 
character  in  the  west.  Beautiful  w^hite,  gray,  and 
I'ed  marbles  are  found  here;  and  sometimes  fine 
specimens  of  rock-crystals.  Salt  springs  abound. 
It  has  lead  mines;  and  iron  ore  is  no  where  more 
abundant.  Its  salt-petre  caves  are  most  astonishing 
curiosities.  One  of  them  has  been  traced  ten  miles. 
Another,  on  a  high  point  of  Cumberland  mountain, 
has  a  perpendicular  descent,  the  bottom  of  which 
has  never  been  sounded.  They  abound  in  prodi- 
gious vaulted  apartments  and  singular  chambers,  the 
roofs  springing  up  into  noble  arches,  or  running 
along  for  miles  in  regular  oblong  excavations.  The 
gloomy  grandeur,  produced  by  the  faint  illumina- 
tion of  torches  in  these  immense  subterranean  retreats, 
may  be  imagined,  but  not  described.  Springs 
rise,  and  considerable  streams  flow  through  them, 
on  smooth  limestone  beds. 

This  is  the  very  home  of  subterranean  wonders, 
showing  the  noblest  caves  in  the  world.  In  com- 
parison with  them,  the  celebrated  one  at  Antiparoa 
is  but  a  slight  excavation.  Spurs  of  the  mountains, 
called  the  "Enchanted  Mountains,'^  show  traces  im- 
pressed in  the  solid  limestone,  of  the  footsteps  of 
men,  horses,  and  other  animals,  as  distinctly  as 
though  they  had  been  made  upon  clay  mortar.  In 
places  the  tracks  are  such  as  would  be  made  by  ?  Bet, 
that  had  sUdden  upon  soft  clay  in  descending  de- 
clivities. 

Prodigious  remains  of  animals  are  found  neai    be 


'50  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

salines.  Whole  trees  are  discovered  completely 
petrified ;  and  to  crown  the  list  of  wonders,  in  turn 
ing;  up  the  soil,  graves  are  opened,  which  contain 
the  skeletons  of  figures,  who  must  have  been  of  ma- 
ture age.  Paintings  of  the  sun,  moon,  animals,  and 
serpents,  on  high  and  apparently  inaccessible  chilis, 
out  of  question  the  work  of  former  ages,  in  colors  as 
fresh  as  if  recently  laid  on,  and  in  some  instances, 
just  and  ingenious  in  delineation,  are  a  subject  of 
untiring  speculation.  Even  the  streams  in  this  re- 
gion of  wonders  have  scooped  out  for  them.selves 
immensely  deep  channels  hemmed  in  by  perpendic- 
ular walls  of  limestonf",  sometimes  springing  up  to 
a  height  of  three  or  four  hundred  feet.  As  the 
traveller  looks  down  upon  the  dark  waters  rolling 
so  far  beneath  him,  seeming  to  flow  in  a  subterra- 
nean world,  he  cannot  but  feel  impressions  of  the 
grandeur  of  nature  stealing  over  him. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  that  persons,  whose  sole 
object  in  entering  the  country  was  to  explore  it, 
would  fail  to  note  these  surprising  traces  of- past 
races,  the  beautiful  diversity  of  the  aspect  of  the 
country,  or  these  wonders  of  nature  exhibited  on 
every  hand.  Being  neither  incuiious  nor  incom- 
petent observers,  their  delineations  were  graphic 
and  vivid. 

"Their  teachers  liad  been  woods  and  rills. 
The  silence,  that  is  in  the  starry  sky; 
The  sleep,  that  is  among  the  lonely  hills." 

They  advanced  into  Kentucky  so  far,  a«  to  fill 
their  imaginations  with  the  fresh  and  luxunant 
beauty  of  its  lawns,  its  rich  cnnt^-brakes  and  ilower- 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  37 

ing  forests  To  them  it  was  a  terrestrial  paradise 
for  it  was  full  of  game.  Deer,  elk,  bears,  bufialoes, 
panthers,  wolves,  wild-cats,  and  foxes,  abounded  in 
the  thick  tangles  of  the  green  cane;  and  in  the 
open  woods,  pheasants,  partridges, and  turkeys,  were 
as  plenty  as  domestic  fowls  in  the  old  settlements. 

Such  wer^  the  materials,  from  which  these  hun- 
ters, on  their  return  formed  descriptions  that  fixed  in 
the  remembrance,  and  operated  upon  the  fancy  of 
all  who  heard.  A  year  after  Finley's  return,  his 
love  of  wandering  led  him  into  the  vicinity  of  Dan- 
iel Boone.  They  met,  and  the  hearts  of  these  kin- 
dred spirits  at  once  warmed  towards  each  other. 
Finley  related  his  adventures,  and  painted  the  de- 
lights of  Kain-tuck-kee — for  such  was  its  Indian  name. 
Boone  had  but  few  hair-breath  escapes  to  recount, 
in  comparison  with  his  new  companion.  But  it 
can  readily  be  imagined,  that  a  burning  sensation 
rose  in  his  breast,  like  that  of  the  celebrated  pain- 
ter Correggio,  when  low-born,  untaught,  poor  and 
destitute  of  every  advantage,  save  that  of  splendid 
native  endowment,  he  stood  before  the  work  of  the 
immortal  Raphael,  and  said,  "I  too  am  a  painter!" 
Boone's  purpose  was  fixed.  In  a  region,  such  as 
Finley  described,  far  in  advance  of  the  wearying 
monotony  of  a  life  of  inglorious  toil,  he  would  have 
space  to  roam  unwitnessed,  undisturbed  by  those  of 
his  own  race,  whose  only  thought  was  to  cut  down 
trees,  at  least  for  a  period  of  some  years.  We  wish 
not  to  be  understood  to  laud  these  views,  as  wise  or 
just.  In  the  order  of  things,  however,  it  was  neces- 
enrj,  that  men  like  Finley  and  Boone,  and  their 


38  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

companions,  should  precede  in  the  wilderness,  to 
prepare  the  v/ay  for  the  multitudes  who  would  soon 
follow.  It  is  probable,  that  no  motives  but  those 
ascribed  to  them,  would  have  induced  these  adven- 
turers to  face  the  hardships  and  extremes  of  suffering 
from  exposure  and  hunger,  and  the  peril  of  Ufe, 
which  they  literally  carried  in  their  hand. 

No  feeling,  but  a  devotion  to  their  favorite  pur- 
suits and  modes  of  life,  stronger  than  the  fear  of 
abandonment,  in  the  interminable  and  pathless 
woods,  to  all  forms  of  misery  and  death,  could  ever 
have  enabled  them  to  persist  in  braving  the  danger 
and  distress  that  stared  them  in  the  face  at  every 
advancing  step. 

Finley  was  invited  by  Boone  permanently  to 
share  the  comfort  of  his  fire-side, — for  it  was  now 
winter.  It  needs  no  exercise  of  fancy  to  conjecture 
their  subjects  of  conversation  during  the  long  eve- 
ning. The  bitter  wintry  wind  burst  upon  their 
dwelling  only  to  enhance  the  cheerfulness  of  the 
blazing  fire  in  the  huge  chimneys,  by  the  contrast 
of  the  inclemency  of  nature  without. 

It  does  not  seem  natural,  at  first  thought,  that  a 
season,  in  which  nature  shows  herself  stern  and 
unrelenting,  should  be  chosen,  as  that  in  which 
plans  are  originated  and  matured  for  settling  the 
destiny  of  life.  But  it  was  during  this  winter,  that 
Boone'  and  Finley  arranged  all  the  preliminaries  of 
their  expedition,  and  agreed  to  meet  on  the  first  of 
May  in  the  coming  spring;  and  with  some  others, 
whom  they  hoped  to  induce  to  join  them  for  greatei 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  39 

strength  and  safety,  to  set  forth  together  on  an  ex- 
pedition into  Kentucky. 

Boone's  array  of  arguments,  to  influence  those 
whom  he  wished  to  share  this  daring  enterprise 
with  him,  was  tinctured  with  the  coloring  of  rude 
poetry.  "They  would  ascend,"  he  said,  "the  un- 
named mountains,  whose  green  heads  rose  not  far 
from  their  former  hunting-grounds,  since  fences  and 
inclosures  had  begun  to  surround  them  on  all  sides, 
shutting  up  the  hunter  from  his  free  range  and  sup- 
port. The  deer  had  fled  from  the  sound  of  the  axe, 
which  levelled  the  noble  trees  under  whose  shade 
they  could  repose  from  the  fatigues  of  pursuit. 
The  springs  and  streams  among  the  hills  were  bared 
to  the  fierce  sun,  and  would  soon  dry  up  and  dis- 
appear. Soon  'the  horn  would  no  more  wake  them 
up  in  the  morn.'  The  sons  of  their  love  and  pride, 
instead  of  being  trained  hunters,  with  a  free,  bold 
step,  frank  kindness,  true  honor,  and  a  courage  that 
knew  not  fear,  would  become  men  to  whom  the 
pleasures  and  dangers  of  their  fathers  would  seem 
an  idle  tale."  The  prospect  spreading  on  the  oth- 
er side  of  the  mountains,  he  pictured  as  filled  with 
all  the  images  of  abundance  and  freedom  that  could 
enter  the  thoughts  of  the  hunter.  The  paintings 
were  drawn  from  nature,  and  the  words  few  and 
simple,  that  spoke  to  the  hearts  of  these  sons  of  the 
forest.  "The  broad  woods,"  he  pursued,  "would 
stretch  beneath  their  eyes,  when  the  mountain  sum- 
mits were  gained,  one  extended  tuft  of  blossoms. 
The  cane  was  a  tangle  of  luxuriance,  affording  the 
richest  pastures.     The  only  paths  through  it  were 


40  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

those  made  by  buffaloes  and  bears.  In  the  shelter 
ed  glades,  turkeys  and  large  wild  birds  were  so 
abundant,  that  a  hqnter  could  supply  himself  in  an 
hour  for  the  wants  of  a  week.  They  would  not 
be  found  Hke  the  lean  and  tough  birds  in  the  old 
settlements,  that  lingered  around  the  clearings  and 
stumps  of  the  trees,  in  the  topmost  of  whose  branch- 
es the  fear  of  man  compelled  them  to  rest,  but 
young  and  full  fed.  The  trees  in  this  new  land 
were  of  no  stinted  or  gnarled  growth,  but  shot  up 
tall,  straight,  and  taper.  The  yellow  poplar  here 
threw  up  into  the  air  a  column  of  an  hundred  feet 
shaft  in  a  contest  with  the  sycamore  for  the  pre-em- 
inence of  the  woods.  Their  wives  and  children 
would  remam  safe  in  their  present  homes,  until  the 
first  dangers  and  fatigues  of  the  new  settlement 
had  been  met  and  overcome.  When  their  homes 
were  selected,  and  their  cabins  built,  they  would 
return  and  bring  them  out  to  their  new  abodes. 
The  outward  journey  could  be  regulated  by  the  un 
controlled  pleasure  of  their  more  frail  travellers. 
"What  guardians  could  be  more  true  than  their  hus- 
bands with  their  good  rifles  and  the  skill  and  de- 
termination to  use  them?  They  would  depend,  not 
upon  circumstances,  but  upon  themselves.  The 
babes  would  exult  in  the  arms  of  their  mothers 
from  the  inspiring  influence  of  the  fresh  air;  and  at 
night  a  cradle  from  the  hollow  tree  would  rock 
them  to  a  healthful  repose.  The  older  children, 
training  to  the  pursuits  and  pleasures  of  a  life  in 
the  woods,  and  acquiring  vigor  of  body  and  mind 
with  every  day,  in  their  season  of  prime,  would  feel 


LJFE    OF    DANIEL    ROONE.  41 

no  shame  that  thcj  had  hearts  softened  hy  the  warn\ 
current  of  true  feehng.  When  their  own  silver 
hairs  lay  thin  upon  the  brow,  and  their  eye  was 
dim,  and  sounds  came  confused  on  their  ear,  and 
their  step  faltered,  and  their  form  bent,  they  would 
tind  consideration,  and  care,  and  tenderness  from 
children,  whose  breasts  were  not  steeled  by  ambi- 
tion, nor  hardened  by  avarice;  in  whom  the  beau- 
tiful influences  of  the  indulgence  of  none  but  natu- 
ral desires  and  pure  alFections  would  not  be  dead- 
ened by  the  selfishness,  vanity,  and  iear  of  ridicule, 
that  are  the  harvest  of  what  is  called  civilized  and 
cultivated  life."  Such  at  least,  in  aft.,  r  hfe,  were  the 
contrasts  that  Boone  used  to  preserv  between  social 
life  and  that  of  the  woodsman 

4* 


MFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  4'^ 


CHAPTER    III. 

Boone,  will.  Finley  and  others,  start  on  their  exploring  expedition  — • 
Boone  kills  a  panther  in  tlie  night — Their  progress  over  the  moun- 
tains— They  descend  into  the  great  valley — Description  of  the  new 
countrj' — Herds  of  buffaloes — Their  wanderings  in  the  wilderness. 

The  first  of  May,  1769,  Finley  and  Boone,  with 
four  others,  whose  names  were  Stewart,  lloldcn, 
Mooney,  and  Cool,  and  who  had  pledged  them- 
selves to  the  undertaking,  were  assembled  at  the 
house  of  Boone,  in  readiness  to  commence  their 
journey.  It  may  be  imagined  that  all  the  neigh- 
bors gathered  to  witness  their  departure.  A  rifle, 
ammunition,  and  a  light  knapsack  were  all  the  bag- 
gage with  which  they  dared  encumber  themselves. 
Provisions  for  a  few  days  were  bestowed  along  with 
the  clothing  deemed  absolutely  necessary  for  com.- 
fort  upon  the  long  route.  No  shame  could  attach 
to  the  manhood  and  courage  of  Daniel  Boone  from 
the  fact  that  tears  were  said  to  have  rushed  to  his 
eyes,  as  he  kissed  his  wife  and  children  before  he 
turned  from  his  door  for  the  last  time  for  months, 
and  perhaps  forever.  The  nature  of  the  pioneer 
was  as  gentle  and  affectionate  as  it  was  firm  and 
persevering.  lie  had  power,  however,  to  send 
back  the  unbidden  gush  to  its  source,  and  forcibly 
to  withdraw   his    mind  from   enervating  thoughts. 

Beside,  the  natural  elasticity  of  his  temperament 
and  the  buoyancy  of  his  character  came  to  liis 
fiid.     The  anticipation  of  new  and    strange    inci- 


44  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

dents  operated  to  produce  in  the  minds  of  the  tr» 
vellers,  fronnthe  commencement  of  tlie  enterprise,  a 
kind  of  wild  pleasure. 

With  alert  and  vigorous  steps  they  pursued  a 
north-west  course,  and  were  soon  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  most  distant  view  of  their  homes.  This  day 
and  night,  and  the  succeeding  one,  the  scenes  in 
view  were  familiar;  hut  in  the  course  of  the  four  or 
five  that  followed,  all  vestiges  of  civilized  habitancy 
had  disappeared.  The  route  lay  through  a  solitary 
and  trackless  wilderness.  Before  them  rose  a  Hne 
of  mountains,  shooting  up  against  the  blue  of  the 
horizon,  in  peaks  and  elevations  of  all  forms.  The 
slender  store  of  food  with  which  they  had  set  out, 
was  soon  exhausted.  To  obtain  a  fresh  supply  wai^ 
the  first  and  most  pressing  want.  Accordingly,  a 
convenient  place  was  selected,  and  a  camp  con- 
structed of  logs  and  branches  of  trees,  to  keep  out 
the  dew  and  rain.  The  whole  party  joined  in  this 
preliminary  arrangement.  When  it  was  so  far 
completed,  as  to  enable  a  part  to  finish  it  before 
night-fall,  part  of  the  company  took  their  rifles  ana 
went  in  different  directions  in  pursuit  of  game. 
They  returned  in  time  for  supper,  with  a  couple  of 
deer  and  some  wild  turkeys.  Those,  whose  business 
it  was  to  finish  the  camp,  had  made  a  generous  fire 
and  acquired  keen  appetites  for  the  coming  feast. 
The  deer  were  rapidly  dressed,  so  far  at  least  as  to 
furnish  a  supper  of  venison.  It  had  not  been  loii^ 
finished,  and  the  arrangements  for  the  night  made, 
before  the  clouds,  which  had  been  gathering  black- 
ness for  some  hours,  rolled  up  in  immense  fold^  f/oni 


LIFE    or    DANIEL    HOONE.  45 

the  point,  whence  was  heard  the  sudden  burst  of  a 
furious  wind.  The  Hghtning  darted  from  all  quar- 
ters of  the  heavens.  At  one  moment  every  object 
stood  forth  in  a  glare  of  dazzling  light.  The  next 
the  darkness  might  almost  be  felt.  The  rain  fell  in 
torrents,  in  one  apparently  unbroken  sheet  from  the 
sky  to  the  earth.  The  peals  of  tlmnder  rolled  al- 
most unheard  amid  this  deafening  rush  of  waters. 
The  camp  of  the  travellers,  erected  with  reference 
to  the  probability  of  such  an  occurrence,  was  pla- 
ced under  the  shelter  of  a  huge  tree,  whose  branch- 
es ran  out  laterally,  and  were  of  a  thickness  of  fo- 
liage to  be  almost  impervious  to  the  rain.  To  this 
happy  precaution  of  the  woodsmen,  they  owed  their 
escape  from  the  drenching  of  the  shower.  They 
were  not,  perhaps,  aware  of  the  greater  danger 
from  lightning,  to  which  their  position  had  exposed 
them. 

As  was  the  universal  custom  in  cases  like  theirs, 
a  watch  was  kept  by  two,  while  the  others  slept. 
The  watches  were  relieved  several  times  during 
the  night.  About  midnight,  Boone  and  Holden 
being  upon  the  watch,  the  deep  stillness  abroad  was 
broken  by  a  shrill  scream,  resembling  the  shriek  of 
a  frightened  woman  or  child  more  nearly  than  any 
other  sound.  The  two  companions  had  been  sit- 
ting in  a  contemplative  mood,  listening  to  the  deep 
breathing  of  the  sleepers,  when  this  cry  came  upon 
their  ears.  Both  sprang  erect.  "What  is  that?" 
exclaimed  Holden,  who  was  not  an  experienced 
backwoodsman,  in  comparison  with  the  others. 
"Hush!"  answered   Boone;  "do  not  wake  the  rest. 


40  LrPE   OF    DANIEI,    BOOIVE. 

It  is  nothing  but  the  cry  of  a  panther.  Take  your 
gun  and  come  with  me." 

They  stole  gently  from  the  camp  and  hstcned  in 
breathless  silence  for  a  repetition  of  the  cry.  It 
was  soon  repeated,  indicating  the  place  where  the 
animal  was.  Groping  cautiously  through  the  bushes 
in  its  direction,  frequently  stopping  to  look  around, 
and  holding  their  rifles  ready  for  an  instantaneous 
shot,  they  drew  near  the  formidable  animal.  At 
length  they  discovered  at  a  little  dis'«:nce  before 
them,  two  balls  that  glared  with  an  intense  bright- 
ness, like  that  of  living  coals  of  fire.  Boone,  taking 
deliberate  aim,  in  the  best  manner  that  the  dark- 
ness would  permit,  discharged  his  rifle.  The  yell 
of  pain  from  the  animal,  as  it  was  heard  leaping 
among  the  undergrowth  in  an  opposite  direction, 
satisfied  Boone  that  his  shot  had  taken  sufiicient  ef- 
fect to  prevent  a  second  disturbance  from  it,  at 
least  for  that  night,  and  he  returned  to  the  camp 
with  his  coTnpanion.  The  sleepers,  aroused  by  the 
report  of  the  gun,  were  awaiting  him.  The  ac- 
count of  the  adventure  afforded  speculation,  tor.ch- 
ing  the  point,  whether  tlie  animal  had  been  killed 
or  would  return  again.  Early  the  next  m.orning, 
pome  were  dispatched  to  bring  in  more  game,  while 
others  prepared  and  dried  what  had  already  been 
obtained.  The  whole  day  was  spent  in  this  way, 
and  the  night  following  passed  vvithout  any  distur- 
bance. 

With  the  first  light  of  the  sun  on  the  succeeding 
morning,  they  threw  their  knapsacks  over  their 
shoulders,   and  leaving   their  temporary  shelter  lo 


LIFE   or    DANIEL    BOONE.  47 

benefit  any  who  might  come  after  them,  resumed 
their  route.  They  had  not  proceeded  far  before 
an  animal  stretched  on  the  ground  attracted  atten- 
tion. It  was  a  dead  panther.  By  comparing  the 
size  of  the  ball,  which  had  killed  it,  with  those 
used  by  Boone,  the  party  were  satisfied  that  this 
w^as  the  same  animal  he  had  shot  the  night  after  the 
storm. 

During  the  day  they  began  the  ascent  of  the  ridge 
of  the  Alleghany,  that  had  for  some  days  bounded 
their  view.  The  mountainous  character  of  the 
country,  for  some  miles,  before  the  highest  eleva- 
tions rose  to  sight,  rendered  the  travelhng  laborious 
and  slow.  Several  days  w^ere  spent  in  this  toilsome 
progress.  Steep  summits,  impossible  to  ascend,  im- 
peded their  advance,  compelling  them  to  turn  aside, 
and  attain  the  point  above  by  a  circuitous  route. 
Again  they  were  obliged  to  delay  their  journey  for  a 
day,  in  order  to  obtain  a  fresh  supply  of  provisions. 
This  was  readily  procured,  ^as  all  the  varieties  of 
game  abounded  on  every  side. 

The  last  crags  and  cliffs  of  the  middle  ridges  ha- 
ving been  scrambled  over,  on  the  following  morning 
they  stood  on  the  summit  of  Cumberland  mountain, 
the  farthest  western  spur  of  this  line  of  heightf. 
From  this  point  the  descent  into  the  great  western 
valley  began.  What  a  scene  opened  before  them! 
A  feeling  of  the  sublime  is  inspired  in  every  bosom 
susceptible  of  it,  by  a  view  from  any  point  of  these 
vast  ranges,  of  the  boundless  forest  valleys  of  the 
Ohio.  It  is  a  view  more  grand,  more  heart- stirring 
than  that  of  the  ocean,     inimitable  extents  of  wood. 


48  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

and  winding  river  courses  spread  before  them  like 
a  large  map.  "Glorious  country!"  they  exclaimed. 
Little  did  Boone  dream  that  in  fifty  years,  immense 
portions  of  it  would  pass  from  the  domain  of  the  hun- 
ter— that  it  would  contain  four  millions  of  freemen, 
and  its  waters  he  navigated  by  nearly  two  hundred 
steam  boats,  sweeping  down  these  streams  that  now 
rolled  through  the  unbroken  forests  before  them. 
To  them  it  stood  forth  a,n  unexplored  paradise  of  the 
hunters  imagination. 

After  a  long  pause,  in  thoughts  too  deep  for  words, 
they  began  the  descent,  which  was  made  in  a  much 
shorter  time  than  had  been  required  for  the  oppo- 
site ascent;  and  the  explorers  soon  found  themselves 
on  the  slopes  of  the  subsiding  hills.  Here  the  hun- 
icr  was  in  his  element.  To  all  the  party  but  Finlcy, 
the  buffaloes  incidentally  seen  in  small  numbers  in 
the  valleys,  were  a  novel  and  interesting  sight.  It 
had  as  yet  been  impossible  to  obtain  a  shot  at  them, 
from  their  distance  or  position.  It  may  be  imagined 
with  what  eagerness  Boone  sought  an  opportunity  to 
make  his  first  essay  in  this  exciting  and  noble  species 
of  hunting. 

The  first  considerable  drove  came  in  sight  on  the 
L.fternoon  of  the  day  on  which  the  travellers  reached 
the  foot  of  the  mountains.  The  day  had  been  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  of  spring.  The  earth  was 
covered  with  grass  of  the  freshest  green.  The  rich 
foHage  of  the  trees,  in  its  varied  sliading,  furnished 
its  portion  of  the  loveliness  of  the  surrounding  land- 
scape. The  light  of  the  declining  sun  lay  full  on 
the  scene  of  boundless  solitude.     The  party  had  de- 


LIFE   OP   DANIEL   BOONE.  49 

Ecended  into  a  deep  glen,  which  wound  through  the 
opening  between  the  highlands,  still  extending  a 
little  in  advance  of  them.  They  pursued  its  course 
until  it  terminated  in  a  beautiful  little  plain.  Upon 
advancing  into  this,  they  found  themselves  in  an  area 
of  considerable  extent,  almost  circular  in  form, 
bounded  on  one  half  its  circumference  by  the  line 
of  hills,  from  among  which  they  had  just  emerged. 
The  other  sections  of  the  circle  were  marked  by 
the  fringe  of  wood  that  bordered  a  stream  winding 
from  the  hills,  at  a  considerable  distance  above. 
The  buffaloes  advanced  from  the  skirt  of  wood,  and 
the  plain  was  soon  filled  by  the  moving  mass  of  these 
huge  animals. 

The  exploring  adventurers  perceived  themselves 
in  danger  of  what  has  more  than  once  happened  in 
similar  situations.  The  prospect  seemed  to  be  that 
they  would  be  trampled  under  the  feet  of  the  reck- 
less and  sweeping  body,  in  their  onward  course. 

"They  will  not  turn  out  for  us,"  said  Finley ;  "and 
if  we  do  not  conduct  exactly  right,  we  shall  be 
crushed  to  death." 

The  inexperienced  adventurers  bade  him  direct 
them  in  the  emergency.  Just  as  the  front  of  the 
phalanx  was  within  short  rifle  distance,  he  dischar- 
ged his  rifle  and  brought  down  one  of  the  bulls, 
that  seemed  to  be  a  file  leader,  by  a  ball  between 
the  horns.  The  unwieldy  animal  fell.  The  mass 
raised  a  deafening  sort  of  bellow,  and  became  ar 
rested,  eis  if  transfixed  to  the  spot.  A  momentary 
confusion  of  the  mass  behind  ensued.     But,  borne 

along  by  the  pressure  of  the  multitudes  still  in  the 

5 


50  UFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE* 

rear,  tliere  was  a  gradual  parting  of  the  herd  direct 
from  the  front,  where  the  fallen  buffalo  lay.  The 
disnjption  once  made,  the  chasm  broadened,  until 
when  the  wings  passed  the  travellers,  they  were  thir- 
ty yards  from  the  divisions  on  either  hand.  To  pre- 
vent the  masses  yet  behind  from  closing  their  lines, 
Finley  took  the  rifle  of  one  of  his  companions,  and 
levelled  another.  This  changed  the  pace  of  the 
animals  to  a  rout.  The  \ast  masses  soon  thundered 
by,  and  left  them  gazing  in  astonishment,  not  un- 
mixed with  joy,  in  reahzing  their  escape.  "Job  of 
Uz,"  exclaimed  Boone,  "had  not  larger  droves  of 
cattle  than  we.  In  fact,  we  seem  to  have  had  in  tliis 
instance  an  abundance  to  a  fault." 

As  this  W21S  an  era  in  their  adventures,  and  an 
omen  of  the  abundance  of  the  vast  regions  of  forests 
which  they  had  descried  from  the  summits  of  the 
mountains,  they  halted,  made  a  camp,  and  skinned 
the  animals,  preserving  the  skins,  fat,  tongues,  and 
choice  pieces.  No  epicures  ever  feasted  higher  than 
these  athletic  and  hungry  hunters,  as  they  sat  around 
their  evening  fire,  and  commented  upon  the  ease 
with  which  their  wants  would  be  supplied  in  a  coun- 
ry  thus  abounding  with  such  animals. 

After  feasting  again  in  the  morning  on  the  spoilg 
of  the  preceding  day,  and  packing  such  parts  of  the 
animals  as  their  probable  necessities  suggested,  they 
commenced  Iheir  march;  and  in  no  great  distance 
reached  Red  river,  a  branch  of  the  Cumberland. 
They  followed  the  meanders  of  this  river  for  some 
miles,  until  they  reached,  on  the  7th  day  of  June^ 


LITE   OP   DANIEL    BOO.VE.  At 

Fmlej's  former  station,  where  his  preceding  explo- 
rations of  the  western  country  had  terminated. 

Their  journey  to  this  point  had  lasted  more  than 
a  month;  and  though  the  circumstances  in  which 
thej  had  made  it,  had  been  generally  auspicious,  so 
long  a  route  through  unknown  forests,  and  over  pre- 
cipitous mountains,  hitherto  untrodden  by  white 
men,  could  not  but  have  been  fatiguing  in  the  ex- 
treme. None  but  such  spirits  could  have  sustained 
their  hardships  without  a  purpose  to  turn  back,  and 
leave  their  exploration  unaccomplished. 

They  resolved  in  this  place  to  encamp,  and  re- 
main for  a  time  sufficient  to  recruit  themselves  for 
other  expeditions  and  discoveries.  The  weather 
had  been  for  some  time  past,  and  still  remained,  rainy 
and  unpleasant;  and  it  became  necessary  that  their 
station  should  be  of  such  a  construction,  as  to  secure 
them  a  dry  sleeping  place  from  the  rain.  The  game 
was  so  abundant,  that  they  found  it  a  pleasure,  rath- 
er than  a  difficulty,  to  supply  themselves  with  food. 
The  buffaloes  were  seen  like  herds  of  cattle,  dispersed 
among  the  cane-brakes,  or  feeding  on  the  grass,  or 
ruminating  in  the  shade.  Their  skins  were  of  great 
utility,  in  furnishing  them  with  moccasins,  and  many 
necessary  articles  indispensable  to  their  comfortable 
subsistence  at  their  station. 

What  struck  them  with  unfailing  pleasure  was,  to 
observe  the  soil,  in  general,  of  a  fertility  without 
example  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains.  From 
an  eminence  in  the  vicinity  of  their  station,  they 
could  see,  as  far  as  vision  could  extend,  the  beautiful 
country  of  Kentucky.     They  remarked  with  aston- 


52  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

ishment  the  tall,  straight  trees,  shading  the  exuber- 
ant soil,  wholly  clear  from  any  other  underbrush 
than  the  rich  cane-brakes,  the  image  of  verdure  and 
luxuriance,  or  tall  grass  and  clover.  Down  the  gen- 
tle slopes  murmured  clear  limestone  brooks.  Finley 
who  had  some  touch  of  scripture  knowledge,  ex 
claimed  in  view  of  this  wilderness-paradise,  so  abun- 
dant in  game  and  wild  fowls,  "This  wilderness  blos- 
soms as  the  rose ;  and  these  desolate  places  are  as  the 
garden  of  God." 

"Ay,"  responded  Boone;  "and  who  would  remain 
on  the  sterile  pine  hills  of  North  Carolina,  to  heai 
the  screaming  of  the  jay,  and  now  and  then  bring 
down  a  deer  too  lean  to  be  eaten?  This  is  the  land 
of  hunters,  where  man  and  beast  will  grow  to  theii 
full  size." 

They  ranged  through  various  forests,  and  crossed 
the  numerous  streams  of  the  vicinity.  By  following 
the  paths  of  the  buffaloes,  bears,  deer,  and  other  ani- 
mals, they  discovered  the  Salines  or  Licks,  where 
salt  is  made  at  the  present  day.  The  paths,  in  ap- 
proaching the  salines,  were  trodden  as  hard  and 
smooth,  as  in  the  vicinity  of  the  farm-yards  of  the 
old  settlements.  Boone,  from  the  principle  which 
places  the  best  pilot  at  the  helm  in  a  storm,  was  not 
slow  to  learn  from  innumerable  circumstances  which 
would  have  passed  unnoticed  by  a  less  sagacious 
woodsman,  that,  although  the  country  was  not  actu- 
ally inhabited  by  Indians,  it  was  not  the  less  a  scene 
of  strife  and  combat  for  the  possession  of  such  rich 
hunting  grounds  by  a  great  number  of  tiibes.  lie 
discovered  that  it   was  a  common   park  to  these 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  53 

fierce  tribes;  and  none  the  less  likely  to  expose 
them  to  the  dangers  of  Indian  warfare,  because  it 
was  not  claimed  or  inhabited  by  any  particular  tribe. 
On  the  contrary,  instead  of  having  to  encounter  a 
single  tribe  in  possession, he  foresawthat  the  jealousy 
of  all  the  tribes  would  be  united  against  the  new 
ntruders. 

These  fearless  spirits,  who  were  instinctively  im- 
bued with  an  abhorrence  of  the  Indians,  heeded  lit- 
tle, however,  whether  they  had  to  make  war  on 
£hem,  or  the  wild  beasts.  They  felt  in  its  fullest 
force  that  indomitable  elasticity  of  character,  which 
causes  the  possessor,  every  where,  and  in  all  forms 
of  imagined  peril,  to  feel  sufficient  to  themselves. 
Hence  the  lonely  adventurers  continued  fearlessly 
to  explore  the  beautiful  positions  for  settlements,  to 
cross  and  name  the  rivers,  and  to  hunt. 

By  a  happy  fatality,  through  all  the  summer  they 
met  with  no  Indians,  and  experienced  no  impedi- 
ment in  the  way  of  the  most  successful  hunting. 
During  the  season,  they  had  collected  large  quanti- 
ties of  peltries,  and  meeting  with  nothing  to  excit(i 
apprehension  or  alarm,  they  became  constantly  more 
delighted  with  the  country. 

So  passed  their  time,  until  the  22d  of  December. 
After  this  period  adventures  of  the  most  disastrous 
character  began  to  crowd  upon  them.  We  forth- 
with commence  the  narrative  of  incidents  which 
constitut*^,  the  general  color  of  Boone's  future  life. 

5* 


LIFE  OF   DANIEL   BOONE.  5S 


CHAPTER  IV 

"Hie  explormg  party  divide  into  different  routejH-Boone  and  Stewart 
taken  prisoners  by  the  Indians,  and  their  escape — Boone  meets  with 
his  elder  brother  and  anotlier  white  man  in  the  woods — Stewart  kil- 
led by  the  Indians,  and  the  companion  of  the  elder  Boone  destroyed 
by  wolves — The  elder  brotlier  returns  to  North  Carolina,  leaving 
Boone  dlone  in  tlie  wilderness. 

In  order  to  extend  the  means  of  gaining  more 
exact  information  with  regard  to  this  beautiful  coun- 
try, the  party  divided,  and  took  different  directions. 
Boone  and  Stewart  formed  one  division,  and  the 
remaining  three  the  other.  The  two  former  had  aa 
yet  seen  few  thick  forests.  The  country  was  much 
of  it  of  that  description,  now  known  by  the  name  of 
"Barrens,"  or  open  woods,  which  had  the  appear- 
ance of  having  been  planted  out  with  trees  at  wide 
and  regular  distances  from  each  other,  Uke  those  of 
an  orchard,  allowing  the  most  luxuriant  growth  of 
cane,  grass,  or  clover  beneath  them.  They  now 
passed  a  wide  and  deep  forest,  in  which  the  trees 
were  large  and  thick.  Among  them  were  many  of 
the  laurel  tribe,  in  full  verdure  in  mid  winter.  Oth- 
ers were  thick  hung  with  persimmons,  candied  by 
the  frost,  nutritive,  and  as  luscious  as  figs.  Others 
again  were  covered  with  winter  grapes.  Every 
thing  tended  to  inspire  them  with  exalted  notions  of 
the  natural  resources  of  the  country,  and  to  give 
birth  to  those  extravagant  romances,  which  after- 
wards became  prevalent,  as  descriptions  of  Ken- 
tucky.    Such  were  Finley's  accounts  of  it — views 


56  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

which  went  ahroad,  and  created  even  in  Europe  an 
impression  of  a  kind  of  new  El  Dorado,  or  rather  ru- 
ral paradise.  Other  and  very  different  scenes,  in  no 
great  length  of  time,  disenchanted  the  new  paradise, 
and  presented  it  in  the  sober  traits  of  truth. 

They  were  never  out  of  sight  of  buffaloes,  deer, 
and  turkeys.  At  night-fall  they  came  in  view  of 
Kentucky  river,  and  admired  in  unsated  astonish- 
ment, the  precipices  three  hundred  feet  high,  at  the 
foot  of  which,  as  in  a  channel  cut  out  of  the  solid 
limestone,  rolled  the  dark  waters  of  the  beautiful 
stream.  A  lofty  eminence  was  before  them.  Think- 
ing it  would  afford  them  a  far  view  of  the  meander- 
ings  of  the  river,  they  ascended  it.  This  expecta- 
tion was  realized.  A  large  extent  of  country  stretch- 
ed beneath  them.  Having  surveyed  it,  they  propo- 
sed to  commence  their  return  to  rejoin  their  com- 
panions. As  they  were  leisurely  descending  the 
hill,  little  dreaming  of  danger,  the  Indian  yell  burst 
upon  their  ears.  A  numerous  party  of  Indians 
sprang  from  the  cane-brake,  surrounded,  vanquish- 
ed, and  bound  them,  before  they  had  time  to  have 
recourse  to  their  arms.  The  Indians  proceeded  to 
plunder  them  of  their  rifles,  and  every  thing  in  their 
possession  but  the  most  indispensable  articles  of 
dress.  They  then  led  them  off  to  their  camp,  where 
they  confined  them  in  such  a  manner  as  effectually 
to  prevent  their  escape. 

Not  knowing  a  word  of  the  speech  of  their  cap- 
tors, who  knew  as  little  of  theirs,  they  were  wholly 
ignorant  of  what  fate  awaited  them.  The  Indians 
next    day    marched    them    ofT    rapidly    towards    the 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  57 

north,  compelling  them  to  travel  at  a  rate  which 
was  excessively  annoying  to  captives  in  their  pre- 
dicament— manacled,  in  momentary  apprehension 
of  death,  and  plunging  deeper  into  the  wilderness 
in  advancing  towards  the  permanent  abode  of  their 
savage  masters.  It  was  well  for  them  that  they 
were  more  athletic  than  the  savages,  equally  capa- 
ble of  endurance,  and  alike  incapable  of  betraying 
groans,  fear,  or  even  marks  of  regret  in  their  coun- 
tenance. They  knew  enough  of  savage  modes  to 
beware  that  the  least  indications  of  weariness,  and 
inability  to  proceed,  would  have  brought  the  toma- 
hawk and  scalping-knife  upon  their  skulls — weapons 
with  which  they  were  thus  early  supplied  from  De- 
troit. They  therefore  pushed  resolutely  on,  with 
cheerful  countenances,  watching  the  while  with  in- 
tense earnestness,  to  catch  from  the  signs  and  ges- 
tures of  the  Indians,  v/hat  was  their  purpose  in  re- 
gard to  their  fate.  By  the  second  day,  they  com- 
prehended the  words  of  most  frequent  recurrence  ia 
the  discussion,  that  took  place  respecting  them. 
Part,  thej  perceived,  wxre  for  putting  them  to  death 
to  prevent  their  escape.  The  other  portion  advo- 
cated their  being  adopted  into  the  tribe,  and  do- 
mesticated. To  give  efficacy  to  the  counsels  of 
these  last,  the  captives  not  only  concealed  every 
trace  of  chagrin,  but  dissembled  cheerfulness,  and 
affected  to  like  their  new  mode  of  life;  and  seemed 
as  happy,  and  as  much  amused,  as  the  Indians  them- 
selves 

Fortunately,  their  previous  modes  of  life,  and  in 
fact  their  actual  aptitudes  and  propensities  wonder- 


58  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

fully  qualified  them,  along  with  their  reckless  cour- 
age and  elasticity  of  character,  to  enact  this  difficult 
part  with  a  success,  which  completely  deceived  the 
Indians,  and  gave  the  entire  ascendency  to  the  ad- 
vice of  those  who  proposed  to  spare,  and  adopt  thenk 
nto  their  tribe.  Lulled  by  this  semblance,  the  cap- 
tors were  less  and  less  strict  in  their  guard.  On  the 
seventh  night  of  their  captivity,  the  savages,  ha'vdng 
made  a  great  fire,  and  fed  plentifully,  all  fell  into  a 
sound  sleep,  leaving  their  prisoners,  who  affected  to 
be  as  deeply  asleep  as  themselves,  wholly  unguarded. 

It  need  hardly  be  said,  that  the  appearance  of  con- 
tent they  had  worn,  was  mere  outward  show;  and 
that  they  slept  not.  Boone  slowly  and  cautiously 
raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  thus  remained 
a  few  moments  to  mark,  if  his  change  of  position  had 
been  observed.  One  of  the  sleepers  turned  in  hia 
sleep.  Boone  instantly  dropped  back  to  his  recum- 
bent posture  and  semblance  of  sleep.  So  he  re- 
mained fifteen  minutes,  when  he  once  more  raised 
himself,  and  continued  sitting  for  some  time,  without 
noting  a  movement  among  the  slumberers  around 
him.  He  then  ventured  to  communicate  his  pur- 
pose to  his  companion. 

The  greatest  caution  was  necessary  to  prevent 
disturbing  the  savages,  as  the  slightest  noise  would 
awake  them,  and  probably  bring  instant  death  upon 
the  captives.  Stewart  succeeded  in  placing  him- 
self upon  his  feet  without  any  noise.  The  compan 
ions  were  not  far  apart,  but  did  not  dare  to  whisper 
to  each  other  the  thought  that  occurred  alike  to 
both — that,  should  they  escape  without   rifles  and 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE,  59 

ammunition,  they  must  certainly  die  of  hunger.  The 
place  where  their  rifles  stood  had  been  carefully 
noted  by  them,  and  by  groping  their  way  with  the 
utmost  care,  they  finally  reached  them.  Fortu- 
nately, the  equipments,  containing  the  usual  supply 
of  powder  and  ball,  were  near  the  rifles.  The  feel- 
ings with  which  Boone  and  Stewart  stole  forth  from 
the  circle  of  their  captors  may  be  imagined.  They 
made  their  way  into  the  woods  through  the  darkness, 
keeping  close  together  for  some  time,  before  they  ex- 
changed words. 

It  was  not  far  from  morning  when  they  began 
their  attempt  at  escape;  but  they  had  made  con- 
siderable progress  from  the. Indian  encampment  be- 
fore the  dawn.  They  took  their  course  with  the 
first  light,  and  pursued  it  the  whole  day,  reaching 
their  camp  without  meeting  with  any  accident.  As 
the  sun  was  declining,  forms  were  seen  approach- 
ing the  camp  in  the  distance.  The  uncertain  light 
in  which  they  were  first  visible,  rendered  it  impos- 
sible for  Boone  and  Stewart  to  determine  whether 
they  were  whites  or  Indians;  but  they  grasped  their 
rifles,  and  stood  ready  for  defence.  The  forms  con- 
tinued to  approach  cautiously  and  slowly,  until 
they  were  within  speaking  distance.  Boone  then 
hailed  them  with  the  challenge,  "Who  comes 
there?"  The  delight  may  be  imagined  with  which 
Boone  and  Stewart  heard  the  reply  of  "White  men 
and  friends!''  "Come  on  then,"  said  Boone.  The 
next  moment  he  found  himself  in  the  arms  of  his 
brother,  who,  accompanied  by  a  single  companion, 
had  left  North  Carolina,  and  made  his  way  all  the 


60  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

distance   from  the   Yadkin    to    the    Cumberland 
They  had  been  wandering  many  days  in  the  woods, 
in  pursuit  of  Boone  and  his   party,   and  had   thus 
providentially  fallen  upon  them. 

Notwithstanding  the  damp  which  it  must  cast  on 
the  spirits  of  these  new  adventurers  to  hear  of  the 
recent  captivity  of  Boone  and  Stewart,  and  the  un- 
certain fate  of  the  rest  of  the  company,  this  joyous 
meeting  of  brothers  and  friends  in  the  wilderness, 
and  this  intelligence  from  home,  filled  the  parties 
with  a  joy  too  sincere  and  unalloyed  to  be  repressed 
by  apprehensions  for  the  future. 

The  four  associates  commenced  the  usual  occu- 
pation of  hunting,  but  viere  soon  alarmed  by  signs 
of  the  vicinity  of  Indians,  and  clear  proofs  that  they 
were  prowling  near  them  in  the  woods.  These 
circumstances  strongly  admonished  them  not  to 
venture  singly  to  any  great  distance  from  each 
other.  In  the  eagerness  of  pursuing  a  wounded 
buffalo,  Boone  and  Stewart,  however,  allowed  them- 
selves to  be  separated  from  their  companions. 
Aware  of  their  imprudence,  and  halting  to  return, 
a  party  of  savages  rushed  from  the  cane-brake,  and 
discharged  a  shower  of  arrows  upon  them,  one  of 
which  laid  Stewart  dead  on  the  spot.  The  first 
purpose  of  Boone  was  to  fire  upon  them,  and  sell 
his  life  as  dearly  as  possible.  But  rashness  is  not 
bravery;  and  seeing  the  numbers  of  the  foe,  the 
hopelessness  of  resistance,  and  the  uselessness  of 
bartering  his  own  life  for  the  revenge  of  inflicting 
a  single  death — reflecting,  moreover,  on  the  retalia- 
tion it  would  probably  bring  down  on  the  remain- 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  61 

der  of  his  companions,  he  retreated,  and  escaped, 
amidst  a  flight  of  arrows,  in  safety  to  the  camp. 

One  would  have  supposed  that  this  party  would 
have  needed  no  more  monition  to  keep  them  togeth- 
er, and  always  on  their  guard.  But,  forgetful  of 
the  fate  of  Stewart,  the  partner  of  the  elder  Boone, 
who  had  recently  arrived,  allowed  himself  to  be  be- 
guiled away  from  the  two  Boones,  as  they  were 
hunting  together.  The  object  of  his  curiosity  was 
of  little  importance.  In  pursuit  of  it,  he  wandered 
into  a  swamp,  and  was  lost.  The  two  brothers 
sought  him,  long  and  painfully,  to  no  purpose. 
Discouraged,  and  perhaps  exasperated  in  view  of 
his  careless  imprudence,  they  finally  concluded  he 
had  chosen  that  method  of  deserting  them,  and  had 
set  out  on  his  return  to  North  Carolina.  Under 
such  impressions,  they  relinquished  the  search,  and 
returned  to  camp.  They  had  reason  afterwards  to 
repent  their  harsh  estimate  of  his  intentions.  Frag- 
ments of  his  clothes,  and  traces  of  blood  were  found 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  swamp.  A  numerous 
pack  of  wolves  had  been  heard  to  howl  in  that  di- 
rection the  evening  on  which  he  had  been  lost. 
Circumstances  placed  it  beyond  a  doubt,  that,  while 
wandering  about  in  search  of  his  companions,  these 
terrible  animals  had  come  upon  him  and  torn  him 
in  pieces.     He  was  never  heard  of  afterwards. 

The  brothers  were  thus  left  alone  in  this  wide 
wilderness,  the  only  white  men  west  of  the  moun- 
tains; as  they  concluded  the  remainder  of  the  ori- 
ginal party  had  returned  to  North  CaroHna.     But 

6 


52  LIFE   OP    DANIEL   BOONE. 

they  were  neither  desponding  nor  indolent.  They 
held  pleasant  communion  together — hunted  by  day, 
cooked  their  game,  sat  by  their  bright  fires,  and 
sung  the  airs  of  their  country  by  night,  as  though 
m  the  midst  of  the  gayest  society.  They  devoted, 
beside,  much  of  their  time  and  labor  to  preparing  a 
comfortable  cabin  to  shelter  them  during  the  ap- 
proaching winter. 

They  were  in  want  of  many  things.  Clothing 
and  moccasins  they  might  supply.  With  bread, 
sugar,  and  salt,  though  articles  of  the  first  necessity, 
they  could  dispense.  But  ammunition,  an  article 
absolutely  indispensable,  was  faiUng  them.  They 
concluded,  too,  that  horses  would  be  of  essential 
ser\-ice  to  them.  They  finally  came  to  the  resolu- 
tion that  the  elder  Boone  should  return  to  North 
Carolina,  and  come  out  to  the  new  country  with 
ammunition,  horses,  and  supplies. 

The  character  of  Daniel  Boone,  in  consenting 
to  be  left  alone  in  that  wilderness,  surrounded  by 
perils  from  the  Indians  and  wild  beasts,  of  which 
he  had  so  recently  and  terribly  been  made  aware, 
appears  in  its  true  light.  We  have  heard  of  a 
Robinson  Crusoe  made  so  by  the  necessity  of  ship- 
wreck; but  all  history  can  scarcely  parallel  another 
such  an  instance  of  a  man  voluntarily  consenting 
to  be  left  alone  among  savages  and  wild  beasts, 
seven  hundred  miles  from  the  nearest  white  inhabi- 
tant. The  separation  came.  The  elder  brother 
disappeared  in  the  forest,  and  Daniel  Boone  was 
left  in  the  cabin,  so  recently  cheered  by  the  presence 


•Ur 


LITE   OF   DANIEL    BOONE.  63 

of  his  brother,  entirely  alone.  Their  only  dog  fol- 
lowed the  departing  brother, and  Boone  had  nothing 
but  his  unconquerable  spirit  to  sustain  him  during 
the  long  and  lonely  days  and  nights,  visited  by  the 
remembrance  of  his  distant  wife  and  children. 

To  prevent  the  recurrence  of  dark  and  lonely 
thoughts,  he  set  out,  soon  after  his  brother  left  him, 
on  a  distant  excursion  to  the  north-west.  The 
country  grew  still  more  charming  under  his  eye  at 
every  step  of  his  advance.  He  wandered  through 
the  delightful  country  of  the  Barrens,  and  gained 
the  heights  of  one  of  the  ridges  of  Salt  river,  whence 
he  could  look  back  on  the  Alleghany  ridges,  lifting 
their  blue  heads  in  the  direction  of  the  country  of  his 
frife  and  children.  Before  him  rolled  the  majestic 
Ohio,  down  its  dark  forests,  and  seen  by  him  for  the 
first  time.  It  may  be  imagined  what  thoughts  came 
over  his  mind,  as  the  lonely  hunter  stood  on  the 
shore  of  this  mighty  stream,  straining  his  thoughts 
towards  its  sources,  and  the  unknown  country  where 
it  discharged  itself  into  some  other  river,  or  the 
sea.  Duiing  this  journey  he  explored  the  country 
on  the  south  shore  of  the  Ohio,  between  the  Cum- 
berland and  the  present  site  of  Louisville,  experi 
encing  in  these  lonely  explorations  a  strange  pleas- 
ure, wliich,  probably,  none  but  those  of  his  tempera- 
ment can  adequately  imagine. 

Returning  to  his  cabin,  as  a  kind  of  head  quarters, 
he  found  it  undisturbed  by  the  Indians.  Caution 
suggested  to  him  the  expedient  of  often  changing 
hia  position,  and  not  continuing  permanently  to 


G4  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

sleep  in  the  cabin.  Sometimes  he  slept  in  the  cane- 
brake,  sometimes  under  the  covert  of  a  limestone 
cliff,  often  made  aware  on  his  return  to  the  cabin 
that  the  Indians  had  discovered  it,  and  visited  it 
during  his  absence.  Surrounded  with  danger  and 
death,  though  insensible  to  fear,  he  neglected  none 
of  those  prudent  precautions  of  which  men  of  his 
temperament  are  much  more  able  to  avail  them- 
selves, than  those  always  forecasting  the  fashion  of 
uncertain  evils.  He  was,  however,  never  for  an 
hour  in  want  of  the  most  ample  supply  of  food. 
Herds  of  deer  and  buffaloes  were  seldom  out  of  his 
sight  for  a  day  together.  His  nights  were  often  dis- 
turbed by  the  howling  of  wolves,  which  abounded 
as  much  as  the  other  forest  animals.  His  table  thus 
abundantly  spread  in  the  wilderness,  and  every 
excursion  affording  new  views  of  the  beautiful  soli- 
tudes, he  used  to  affirm  afterwards  that  this  period 
was  among  the  happiest  in  his  life;  that  during  it, 
care  and  melancholy,  and  a  painful  sense  of  loneli 
ness,  were  alike  unknown  to  him. 

We  must  not,  however,  suppose  that  the  lonely 
hunter  was  capable  only  of  feeling  the  stern  and 
sullen  pleasures  of  the  savage.  On  the  contrary, 
ne  was  a  man  of  the  kindliest  nature,  and  of  the 
tenderest  affections.  We  have  read  of  verses,  in 
solid  columns,  said  to  have  been  made  by  him.  We 
would  be  sorry  to  believe  him  the  author  of  thes 
verses,  for  they  would  redound  little  to  his  honor  as 
a  poet.  But,  though  we  believe  he  did  not  attempt 
to  make  bad  verses,  the  woodsman  was  essentially 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  65 

a  poet.  He  loved  nature  in  all  her  aspects  of  beau- 
ty and  grandeur  with  the  intensest  admiration.  He 
never  wearied  of  admiring  the  charming  natural 
landscapes  spread  before  him;  and,  to  his  latest 
days,  his  spirit  in  old  age  seemed  to  revive  in  the 
season  of  spring,  and  when  he  visited  the  fires  of  th^ 
sugar  camps,  blazing  in  the  open  maple  groves. 

6* 


LIFE   OF    DANIEIi    BOONE.  (v7 


CHAPTER   V. 

Boone  is  pursued  by  the  Indians,  and  eludes  their  pursuit — He  encoun- 
ters and  kills  a  bear — ^The  return  of  his  brother  with  ammunition — 
They  explore  the  country — Boone  kills  a  panther  on  the  back  of  a 
buifalo — They  return  to  North  Carolina. 

Boone's  brother  had  departed  on  the  first  of  May. 
During  the  period  of  his  absence,  which  lasted  un- 
til the  twenty-second  of  July,  he  considered  himself 
the  only  white  person  west  of  the  mountains.  It  is 
true,  some  time  in  this  year,  (1770,)  probably  in  the 
latter  part  of  it,  an  exploring  party  led  by  General 
James  Knox,  crossed  the  Alleghany  mountains.  But 
this  exploring  expedition  confined  its  discoveries 
principally  to  the  country  south  and  west  of  the  riv- 
er Kentucky.  This  exploration  was  desultory,  and 
without  much  result.  Boone  never  met  with  them,  or 
knew  that  they  were  in  the  country.  Consequently, 
in  regard  to  his  own  estimation,  he  was  as  complete- 
ly alone  in  this  unexplored  world,  as  though  they 
had  not  been  there. 

He  never  allowed  himself  to  neglect  his  caution 
in  respect  to  the  numerous  savages  spread  over  the 
country.  He  knew  that  he  was  exposed  every  mo 
ment  to  the  danger  of  falUng  into  their  hands.  The 
fate  of  Stewart  had  served  as  a  warning  to  him.  It 
is  wonderful  that  he  should  have  been  able  to  trav- 
erse such  an  extent  of  country  as  he  did,  and  live  in 
't  80  m-xny  months,  and  yet  evade  them.     It  requi- 


68  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

red  no  little  ingenuity  and  self-possession  to  take 
such  measures  as  insured  this  good  fortune. 

About  mid-day,  near  the  close  of  the  month  of 
June,  he  paused  in  one  of  his  excursions  for  a  short 
time  under  the  shade  of  a  tree.  As  he  looked  cau- 
tiously around  him,  he  perceived  four  Indians  ad- 
vancing openly  towards  him,  but  at  a  considerable 
distance,  and  apparently  without  having  yet  seen 
him.  He  did  not  delay  to  recommence  his  course 
through  the  woods,  hoping  by  short  turns,  and  con- 
cealing himself  among  the  hills,  to  prevent  an  en- 
counter with  them,  as  the  chance  of  four  to  one  was 
too  great  an  odds  against  him.  He  advanced  in  this 
way  one  or  two  miles;  but  as  he  cast  a  glance  be- 
hind, he  saw,  with  pain,  that  they  sedulously  fol 
lowed  in  his  trail  at  nearly  their  first  distance,  show- 
ing the  same  perseverance  and  sagacity  of  pursuit 
with  which  a  hound  follows  a  deer.  When  he  first 
perceived  them,  he  was  in  such  a  position  that  he 
could  see  them,  and  yet  remain  himself  unseen.  He 
was  convinced  that  they  had  not  discovered  his  per- 
son, although  so  closely  pursued  by  them.  But  how  to 
throw  them  off  his  trail,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  conjec- 
ture. He  adopted  a  number  of  expedients  in  succes- 
sion, but  saw  the  Indians  still  on  the  track  behind. 
Suddenly  a  method  occurred  to  his  imagination, 
which  finally  proved  successful.  Large  grape  vines 
swung  from  the  trees  in  all  directions  around  him. 

Hastening  onward  at  a  more  rapid  pace,  until  he 
passed  a  hill  that  would  serve  to  conceal  him  for  a 
few  moments,  he  seized  a  vine  sufliciently  strong  to 
support  his  weight  j  and  disengaging  it  from  the  roots, 


LIFE   OP   DANIEL    BOONE.  69 

vlimbed  it  a  few  feet,  by  bracing  against  the  tree  to 
which  it  was  attached.  When  he  had  attained  the 
necessary  height,  he  gave  himself  so  strong  an  im 
pulse  from  the  tree,  that  he  reached  the  ground  some 
yards  from  the  spot  where  he  left  it.  By  this  expe- 
dient he  broke  his  trail. 

Resuming  his  route  in  a  course  at  right  angles 
from  that  he  had  previously  followed,  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible, he  finally  succeeded  in  entirely  distancing  his 
pursuers,  and  leaving  them  at  fault  in  pursuing  his 
trail. 

Boone  soon  after  this  met  with  a  second  adven- 
ture in  which  he  actually  encountered  a  foe  scarce- 
ly less  formidable  than  the  savage.  Rendered  doubly 
watchful  by  his  late  escape,  none  of  the  forest  sounds 
escaped  his  notice.  Hearing  the  approach  of  what 
he  judged  to  be  a  large  animal  by  the  noise  of  its 
movement  through  the  cane,  he  held  his  rifle  ready 
for  instant  use,  and  drew  from  its  sheath  a  long  and 
sharp  knife,  which  he  always  wore  in  his  belt.  He 
determined  to  try  the  efficacy  of  his  rifle  first.  As 
the  animal  came  in  sight  it  proved  to  be  a  she  bear. 
They  are  exceedingly  ferocious  at  all  times,  and 
their  attack  is  dangerous  and  often  fatal;  but  par- 
ticularly fcO,  when  they  are  surrounded  by  their  cubs, 
as  was  the  case  in  this  instance. 

As  soon  as  the  animal  perceived  him  it  gave  indi- 
cations of  an  intention  to  make  battle.  Boone  lev- 
elled his  rifle,  and  remained  quiet,  until  the  bear  was 
•sufficiently  near  to  enable  him  to  shoot  with  effect. 
In  general  his  aim  was  sure;  but  this  time  the  ball 
did  not  reach  the  point  at  which  he  had  aimed;  and 


LITE   or    DANIEL   BOONE# 


71 


the  wound  it  inflicted  only  served  to  render  the  ani- 
mal mad  with  rage  and  pain.  It  was  impossible  for 
him  to  reload  and  discharge  his  gun  a  second  time 
before  it  would  reach  him;  and  yet  he  did  not  rel- 
ish the  idea  of  grappling  with  it  in  close  fight.  His 
knife  was  the  resource  to  which  he-  instantly  turned. 
He  held  it  in  his  right  hand  in  such  a  position  that  the 
bear  could  not  reach  his  person  without  receiving 
its  point.  His  rifle,  held  in  his  left  hand,  served  as 
a  kind  of  shield.  Thus  prepared,  he  awaited  the 
onset  of  the  formidable  animal.  When  within  a 
foot  of  him,  it  reared  itself  erect  to  grasp  him  with 
its  huge  paws.  In  this  position  it  pressed  upon  the 
knife  until  the  whole  blade  was  buried  in  its  body. 
Boone  had  pointed  it  directly  to  the  heart  of  the  an 
imal.     It  fell  harmless  to  the  ground. 

The  time  fixed  for  the  return  of  his  brother  wa3 
drawing  near.  Extreme  soUcitude  respecting  him 
now  disturbed  the  hitherto  even  tenor  of  his  life. 
He  remained  most  of  his  time  in  his  cabin,  hunting 
no  more  than  was  necessary  for  subsistence,  and  then 
in  the  direction  in  which  his  brother  would  be  like- 
ly to  approach.  It  was  not  doubt  of  his  brother's 
coraphance  with  his  promise  of  return,  that  disturb- 
ed the  woodsman— such  a  feeling  never  even  enter- 
ed his  mind.  He  was  confident  he  would  prove 
faithful  to  the  trust  reposed  in  him;  but  the  difficul- 
ties and  dangers  of  the  way  were  so  great  for  a  soli- 
tary individual  upon  the  route  before  him,  tha* 
Boone  feared  he  might  fall  a  victim  to  them,  not- 
withstanding the  utmost  exertion  of  self-possessi<w» 
and  fortitude. 


n 


LIFE   OP   DANIEL   BOONE. 


Day  after  day  passed,  after  the  extreme  limit  of 
the  period  fixed  by  the  elder  Boone  for  his  return, 
and  still  he  came  not.     It  may  be  imagined  that 
Boone  had  need  of  all  the  firmness  and  philosophy 
of  character,  with  which  he  was  so  largely  endowed 
by  nature,  to  sustain  him  under  the  pressure  of  anxi 
ety  for  the  safety  of  his  brother,  and  to  hear  through 
him  from  his  family.      He  suffered,  too,  from  th(, 
conviction  that  he  must  soon  starve  in  the  wilder 
ness  himself,  as   his  ammunition  was  almost  gone* 
He  could  not  hope  to  see  his  family  again,  unless 
his  brother  or  some  other  person  furnished  him  the 
means  of  obtaining  food  on  his  way  to  rejoin  them. 
His  rifle — his  dependence  for  subsistence  and  de- 
fence— would  soon  become  entirely  useless.     What 
to  others  would  have  been  real  danger*  -^nd  trials — 
a  solitary  life  in  the  wilderness,  exposure  w  tlw*-  at- 
tacks of  the  savages  and  wild  beasts — were  regard- 
ed by  him  as  nothing;    but  here  he  saw  himself 
driven  to  the  last  extremity,  and  without  resource. 
These  meditations,  although  they  made  him  thought- 
ful, did  not  dispiri'  him*     His  spirit  was  unconquer- 
able.    He  was  sitting  ouv.  evening,  near  sunset,  at 
the  door  of  his  cabin,  indulging  in  reflections  natu- 
rally arising  from  his  position.     His  attention  was 
withdrawn  by  a  sound  as  of  something  approaching 
through  the  forest.     Looking  up,  he  saw  nothing, 
out  he  arose,  and  stood  prepared  for  defence.     He 
could   now  distinguish   the  sound  as  of  horses   ad- 
vancmg    directly  towards  the    cabin.     A  moment 
afterwards  he  saw,  through  the  trees,  his  brother 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE,  73 

Hiounted  on  one  horse,  and  leading  another  heavily 
laden. 

It  would  be  useless  to  attempt  to  describe  his 
sensations  at  this  sight.  Every  one  will  feel  in- 
stantly, how  it  must  have  operated  upon  all  the 
sources  of  joy.  Mt)re  unmixed  happiness  is  seldom 
enjoyed  on  the  earth,  than  that,  in  which  the  bro- 
thers spent  this  evening.  His  brother  brought  him 
good  news  of  the  health  and  welfare  of  his  family, 
and  of  the  affectionate  remembrance  in  which  he 
was  held  by  them;  and  an  abundant  supply  of  am- 
munition, beside  many  other  articles,  that  in  his 
Bi^IatiGn,  might  be  deemed  luxuries.  The  brothers 
talked  over  their  supper,  and  until  late  at  night,  for 
they  had  much  to  relate  to  each  other,  and  both 
had  been  debarred  tlie  pleasure  of  conversation  so 
long  that  it  now  seemed  as  though  they  could  never 
weary  of  it.  The  sun  was  high  when  they  awoke 
the  following  morning.  After  breakfast,  they  held 
a  consultation  with  respect  to  what  was  next  to  be 
done.  From  observation,  Boone  was  satisfied  that 
numbers  of  Indians,  in  small  parties,  were  then  in 
the  neighborhood.  He  knew  it  was  idle  to  suppose 
that  two  men,  however  brave  and  skilful  in  the  use 
of  their  weapons,  could  survive  long  in  opposition 
to  them.  He  felt  the  impolicy  of  wasting  more 
time  in  roaming  over  the  country  for  the  mere  pur- 
pose of  hunting. 

He  proposed  to  his  brother  that  they  should  im- 
mediately set  themselves  seriously  about  selecting 
the  most  eligible  spot  on  which  permanently  to  fix 
bis  family.     This  done,  they  would  return  together 


74  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOOIIB. 

to  North  Carolina  to  bring  them  out  to  the  new 
countrj.  He  did  not  doubt,  that  he  could  induce  a 
sufficient  number  to  accompany  him,  to  render  a 
residence  in  it  comparatively  safe.  That  they 
might  accomplish  this  purpose  with  as  little  debv 
as  possible,  they  proceeded  the  remain  ider  of  the 
day  to  hunt,  and  prepare  food  sufficieat  for  some 
time.  The  following  day  they  completed  the  ne- 
cessary  arrangement,  and  settled  every  thing  for  de- 
parture on  the  next  morning. 

They  directed  their  course  to  Cumberland  riven 
In  common  with  all  explorers  of  unknown  coun 
tries,  they  gave  names  to  the  streams  which  they 
crossed.  After  reaching  Cumberland  river,  they 
traversed  the  region  upon  its  banks  in  all  directions 
Ibr  some  days.  Thence  they  took  a  more  northern 
route,  which  led  them  to  Kentucky  river.  The 
country  around  the  latter  river  delighted  them.  Its 
soil  and  position  were  such  as  they  sought;  and  they 
determined,  that  here  should  be  the  location  of  the 
new  settlement.  Having  acquainted  themselves, 
as  far  as  they  deemed  necessary,  with  the  charac- 
ter of  the  region  to  be  revisited,  their  returning 
journey  was  recommenced.  No  incidents,  but  such 
as  had  marked  all  the  period  of  their  joumeyings 
in  the  wilderness,  the  occasional  encounter  of  Indi- 
ans by  day  and  the  cries  of  wild  beasts  by  night 
had  happened  to  them,  during  their  last  explo 
ration. 

Upon  the  second  day  of  their  advance  in  the  di- 
rection of  their  home,  they  heard  the  approach  of 
a  drove  of  buffaloes.     The  brothen  remarked,  that 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONK.  75 

from  the  noise  there  must  be  an  immense  number, 
or  some  uncommon  confusion  among  them.  As  the 
buffaloes  came  in  view,  the  woodsmen  saw  the  ex- 
planation of  the  unusual  uproar  in  a  moment.  The 
herd  were  in  a  perfect  furj,  stamping  the  ground 
and  tearing  it  up,  and  rushing  back  and  forward 
upon  one  another  in  all  directions.  A  panther  had 
seated  himself  upon  the  back  of  one  of  the  largest 
buffaloes,  and  fastened  his  claws  and  teeth  into  the 
flesh  of  the  animal,  wherever  he  could  reach  it,  un- 
til the  blood  ran  down  on  all  sides.  The  move- 
ments of  a  powerful  animal,  under  such  suffering, 
may  be  imagined.  But  plunging,  rearing,  and  run- 
ning were  to  no  purpose.  The  panther  retained  its 
Beat,  and  continued  its  horrid  work.  The  buffalo, 
in  its  agony,  sought  relief  in  the  midst  of  its  com- 
panions, but  instead  of  obtaining  it,  communicated 
its  furj  to  the  drove. 

The  travellers  did  not  care  to  approach  the  buf- 
faloes too  closely;  but  Boone,  picking  the  flint  of 
his  rifle,  and  looking  carefully  at  the  loading,  took 
aim  at  the  panther,  determined  to  displace  the  mon- 
ster from  its  seat.  It  happened,  that  the  buffalo 
continued  a  moment  in  a  position  to  allow  the  dis- 
charge to  take  effect.  The  panther  released  its 
hold,  and  came  to  the  ground.  As  generally  hap- 
pens in  such  cases,  this  herd  was  followed  by  a 
band  of  wolves.  They  prowl  around  for  the  re- 
mains usually  found  in  the  train  of  such  numbers 
of  animals.  Another  rifle  was  discharged  among 
(hem,  for  the  sport  of  seeing  them  scatter  tbro'igh 
the  woods. 


LTFE    or    DANIEL    BOONE.  77 

The  brothers  left  such  traces — or  blazes  as  they 
are  technicailj  called — of  their  course,  as  they 
thought  would  enable  them  to  find  it  again,  until 
they  reached  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  They  tri- 
ed various  ascents,  and  finally  discovered  a  route, 
which,  with  some  labor  might  be  rendered  tolerably 
easy.  They  proposed  to  cross  the  families  here,  and 
blazed  the  path  in  a  way  that  could  not  be  mista- 
ken. This  important  point  settled,  they  hastened 
to  the  settlement,  which  they  reached  without  ac- 
cident. 

7* 


78  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Boone  starts  with  his  family  to  Kentucky — Their  return  to  Clinch  riv >r 
— He  conducts  a  party  of  surveyors  to  the  Falls  of  Ohio — He  helps 
build  Boonesborough,  and  renooves  his  family  to  the  fort — His  daugh- 
ter and  two  of  Col.  Calloway's  daughters  taken  prisoners  by  tiie 
Indians — They  pursue  the  Indians  and  rescue  the  captives. 

The  next  step  was  to  collect  a  sufficient  number 
of  emigrants  who  would  be  willing  to  remove  to 
the  new  country  with  the  families  of  the  Boones,  to 
give  the  settlements  security  and  strength  to  resist 
the  attacks  of  the  Indians.  This  was  not  an  easy 
task.  It  may  be  readily  imagined  that  the  Boones 
saw  only  the  bright  side  of  the  contemplated  expe- 
dition. They  painted  the  fertihty  and  amenity  of 
the  flowering  wilderness  in  the  most  glowing  colors. 
They  described  the  cane-brakes,  the  clover  and 
grass,  the  transparent  limestone  springs  and  brooks, 
the  open  forests,  the  sugar  maple  orchards,  the  buf- 
faloes, deer,  turkeys  and  wild  fowls,  in  all  the  fervid 
colors  of  their  own  imaginations.  To  them  it  was 
the  paradise  of  the  first  pair,  whose  inhabitants  had 
only  to  put  forth  their  hands,  and  eat  and  enjoy. 
The  depredations,  captivities,  and  scalpings,  of  the 
Indians;  the  howling  of  the  wolves;  the  diseases, 
and  pecuHar  trials  and  difficulties  of  a  new  country, 
without  houses,  mills,  and  the  most  indispensable 
necessaries  of  civihzed  life,  were  all  overlooked. 
But  in  such  a  case,  in  a  compact  settlement  like 
that  of  the  Yadkin,  there  are  never  wanting  gain- 
Baycrs,  opposers,  gossips,  who   envied  the  Boones. 


LIFK    OF    DANIEL    BOONB.  79 

These  caused  tliose  disposed  to  the  enterprise  to 
hear  the  other  part,  and  to  contemplate  the  other 
side  of  the  picture.  Thej  put  stories  in  circula- 
tion as  eloquent  as  those  of  the  Boones,  which  told 
of  all  the  scalpings,  captivities,  and  murders  of  the 
Indians,  magnified  in  a  tenfold  proportion.  With 
them,  the  savages  were  like  the  ogres  and  bloody 
giants  of  nursery  stories.  They  had  pleasant  tales 
of  horn-snakes,  of  such  deadly  malignity,  that  the 
thorn  in  their  tails,  struck  into  the  largest  tree  in 
full  verdure,  instantly  blasted  it.  They  scented  in 
the  air  of  the  country,  deadly  diseases,  and  to  them, 
Boone's  paradise  was  a  Hinnom,  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death. 

The  minds  of  the  half  resolved,  half  doubting 
persons,  that  meditated  emigration,  vibrated  alter- 
nately backwards  and  forwards,  inclined  or  disin- 
'^lined  to  it,  according  to  the  last  view  of  the  case 
^resented  to  them.  But  the  natural  love  of  adven- 
ture, curiosity,  fondness  for  the  hunting  life,  dissat- 
isfaction with  the  incessant  labor  necessary  for  sub- 
gistence  on  their  present  comparatively  sterile  soil^ 
joined  to  the  confident  eloquence  of  the  Boones, 
prevailed  on  four  or  five  families  to  join  them  in  the 
expedition. 

All  the  necessary  arrangements  of  preparing  for 
this  distant  expedition,  of  making  sales  and  purcha- 
ees,  had  occupied  nearly  two  years.  The  expedi- 
tion commenced  its  march  on  the  26th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1773.  They  all  set  forth  with  confident  spirits 
for  the  western  wilderness,  and  were  joined  by  forty 
persons  in  Powell's  Valley,  a  settlement  in  advance 


so  Lliir  OF    DANIEI.    F003JF. 

of  that  on  the  Yadkin,  towards  the  western  eoontry. 
The  whole  made  a  cavalcade  of  nearly  eighty  per- 
sons. 

The  three  principal  ranges  of  the  Alleghany,  ove/ 
which  they  must  pass,  were  designated  as  Powell's, 
Walden's,  and  Cumberland.  These  mountams 
"orming  the  barrier  between  the  old  settlements  and 
^he  new  country,  stretch  from  the  north-east  to  the 
50uth-west.  They  are  of  great  length  and  breadth, 
and  not  far  distant  from,  each  other.  There  are 
nature-formed  passes  over  them,  which  render  th^ 
ascent  comparatively  easy.  The  aspect  of  these 
huge  piles  was  so  wikl  and  rugged,  as  to  make  it 
natural  for  those  of  the  party  who  were  unaccus- 
tomed to  mountains,  to  express  fears  of  being  able 
to  reach  the  opposite  side.  The  course  traced  by 
the  brothers  on  their  return  to  Carolina,  was  found 
and  followed.  Tiie  advantage  of  this  forethought 
was  strongly  perceived  by  all.  Their  progress  was 
uninterrupted  by  any  adverse  circumstance,  and 
every  one  was  in  high  spirits,  until  the  west  side  of 
Walden's  ridge,  the  mo&t  elevated  of  the  three,  had 
been  gained.  They  were  now  destined  to  experi 
ence  a  most  appalhng  reverse  of  fortune. 

On  the  tenth  of  October,  as  the  party  were  advan- 
cing along  a  narrow  defile,  utiapprehensive  of  dan- 
ger, they  were  suddenly  terrified  by  fearful  yells. 
Instantly  aware  that  Indiana  surr<Dundcd  them,  the 
men  sprang  to  the  dcfcnve  of  the  helpless  women 
and  children.  But  the  attack  had  been  so  sudden* 
and  the  Indians  were  so  much  superior  in  point  of 
numbers,  that  six  men  fell  at  the  first  onFct  of  ih^ 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  81 

savages.  A  seventh  was  wounded,  and  the  pai  tj 
would  liave  been  overpowered,  but  for  a  general 
and  eiFective  discharge  of  the  rifles  of  the  remainder. 
The  Indians,  terror-struck,  took  to  flight,  and  disap- 
peared. 

Had  the  numbers  of  the  travellers  allowed  it,  they 
felt  no  inclination  to  pursue  the  retreating  Indians. 
Their  loss  had  been  too  serious  to  permit  the  imme- 
diate gratiflcation  of  revenge.  The  eldest  son  of 
Daniel  Boone  was  found  among  the  slain.  The 
domestic  animals  accompanying  the  expedition  were 
so  scattered  by  the  noise  of  the  afliay,  that  it  was 
impossible  again  to  collect  and  recover  them.  The 
distress  and  discouragement  of  the  party  were  so 
great,  as  to  produce  an  immediate  determination  to 
drop  the  projected  attempt  of  a  settlement  in  Ken- 
tucky, and  return  to  Clinch  river,  which  lay  forty 
miles  in  their  rear,  where  a  number  of  families  had 
already  fixed  themselves. 

They  then  proceeded  to  perform  the  last  melan 
choly  duties  to  the  bodies  of  their  unfortunate  com- 
panions with  all  decent  observances  which  circum- 
stances would  allow.  Their  return  was  then  com- 
menced. Boone  and  his  brother,  with  some  others, 
did  not  wish  to  forsake  the  undertaking  upon  which 
they  had  set  out;  but  the  majority  against  them  was 
so  great,  and  the  feeling  on  the  subject  so  strong, 
that  they  were  compelled  to  acquiesce.  The  party 
retraced,  in  deep  sadness,  the  steps  they  had  so  lately 
taken  in  cheerfulness,  and  even  joy. 

Daniel  Boone  remained  with  his  family  on  Clinch 
river,  until  June.  1774;  when  he  was  requested  by 


82  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONB. 

the  governor  of  Virginia  to  go  to  the  falJs  of  Ohio, 
to  act  as  a  guide  to  a  party  of  surveyors.  The  man- 
ifestations of  hostiUty,  on  the  part  of  the  Indians, 
were  such,  that  their  longer  stay  was  deemed  unsafe. 
Boone  undertook  to  perform  this  service,  and  set  out 
upon  this  journey,  with  no  other  companion  than  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Stoner.  They  reached  the 
point  of  destination,  now  Louisville,  in  a  surprisingly 
short  period,  without  any  accident.  Under  his 
guidance  the  surveyors  arrived  at  the  settlements  in 
safety.  From  the  time  that  Boone  left  his  home, 
upon  this  enterprise,  until  he  returned  to  it,  was  but 
sixty-t^'^o  days.  During  this  period  he  travelled 
eight  hundred  miles  on  foot,  through  a  country  en- 
tirely destitute  of  human  habitations,  save  the  camps 
of  the  Indians. 

In  the  latter  part  of  this  year,  the  disturbances 
between  the  Indians  north-west  of  the  Ohio,  and 
the  frontier  settlers,  grew  to  open  hostilities.  Dan- 
iel Boone  being  in  Virginia,  the  governor  appointed 
him  to  the  command  of  three  contiguous  garri- 
sons on  the  frontier,  with  the  commission  of  cap- 
tain. The  campaign  of  the  year  terminated  in  a 
battle,  after  which  the  militia  were  disbanded. 
Boone  was  consequently  relieved  from  duty. 

Col.  Henderson,  of  North  CaroUna,  had  been  for 
some  time  engaged  in  forming  a  company  in  that 
state,  for  the  purpose  of  purchasing  the  lands  on 
the  south  side  of  the  Kentucky,  from  the  southern 
Indians.  The  plan  was  now  matured,  and  Boone 
was  solicited  by  the  company  to  attend  the  treaty 
to  be  made  between  them  and  the  Indian:?,  at  (Va- 


LIFE    OF    U.VMEI.    BOOVE,  S3 

taga,  in  jNIarch,  1775,  to  settle  the  terms  of  tlie  iie- 
gociation.  The  requisite  information,  in  respect  to 
the  proposed  purchase,  was  given  him,  and  he  ac- 
ceded to  the  request.  At  the  appointed  time,  he 
attended  and  successfully  performed  the  service  in- 
trusted to  him.  Soon  afterwards  the  same  com- 
pany applied  to  him  to  lay  out  a  road  between  the 
settlements  on  Holston  river  and  Kentucky  river. 
No  little  knowledge  of  the  country,  and  judgment 
were  requisite  for  the  proper  fulfilment  of  this  ser- 
vice. A  great  many  different  routes  must  be  exam- 
ined, before  the  most  practicable  one  could  be  fixed 
upon.  The  duty  was,  however,  executed  by  Boone, 
promptly  and  faithfully.  The  labor  was  great, 
owing  to  the  rugged  and  mountainous  country, 
through  which  the  route  led.  The  laborers,  too, 
euffered  from  the  repeated  attacks  of  Indians.  Four 
of  them  were  killed,  and  five  wounded.  The  re- 
mainder completed  this  work,  by  reaching  Ken- 
tucky river,  in  April,  of  the  same  year.  They 
immediately  proceeded  to  erect  a  fort  near  a  salt 
spring,  where  Boonesborough  now  stands.  The 
party,  enfeebled  by  its  losses,  did  not  complete  the 
erection  of  the  fort  until  June.  The  Indians  trou- 
bled them  exceedingly,  and  killed  one  man.  The 
fort  consisted  of  a  block-house,  and  several  cabins, 
surrounded  by  palisades. 

The  fort  being  finished,  Boone  returned  to  his 
family,  and  soon  after  removed  them  to  this  first 
garrison  of  Kentucky.  The  purpose  on  which 
his  heart  had  so  long  been  set,  was  now  accom- 
phshed.     His   wife    and    daughters   were    the    first 


S4  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE« 

white  \«'omen  that  ever  stood  on  the  banks  of  Ken- 
tucky river.  In  our  zeal  to  blazon  our  subject,  it 
is  not  affirmed,  that  Boone  was  absolutely  the  first 
discoverer  and  explorer  of  Kentucky,  for  he  was 
not.  But  the  high  meed  of  being  the  first  actual 
settler  and  cultivator  of  the  soil,  cannot  be  denied 
him.  It  was  the  pleasant  season  of  the  close  of 
bummer  and  commencement  of  autumn,  when  the 
immigrants  would  see  their  new  residence  in  the 
best  light.  Many  of  its  actual  inconveniences  were 
withheld  from  observation,  as  the  mildness  of  the 
air  precluded  the  necessity  of  tight  dwellings. 
Arrangements  were  made  for  cultivating  a  field  in 
the  coming  spring.  The  Indians,  although  far  from 
friendly,  did  not  attempt  any  immediate  assault  up- 
cn  their  new  neighbors,  and  the  first  events  of  the 
settlement  were  decidedly  fortunate.  The  game  m 
the  woods  was  an  unfailing  resource  for  food.  The 
supplies  brought  from  their  former  homes  by  the 
immigrants  were  not  yet  exhausted,  and  things 
went  on  in  their  usual  train,  with  the  added  advan- 
tage, that  over  all,  in  their  new  home,  was  spread 
the  charm  of  novelty. 

Winter  came  and  passed  with  as  little  discomfort 
to  the  inmates  of  the  garrison  as  could  be  expected 
from  the  circumstances  of  their  position.  The 
cabins  were  thoroughly  daubed,  and  fuel  was  oi 
course  abundant.  It  is  true,  those  who  felled  the 
trees  were  compelled  to  be  constantly  on  tlieir 
guard,  lest  a  red  man  should  take  aim  at  them  fron-» 
the  shelter  of  some  one  of  the  forest  hiding  places. 
But  they  were  fitted  for  this  way  of  getting  nlon^ 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  85 

by  their  training,  natures,  and  predilections.  There 
was  no  want  of  excitement  during  the  day,  or  even 
night — nothing  of  the  wearying  monotony  to  which 
a  Hfe  of  safe  and  regular  occupation  is  subject. 
Spring  opened.  The  trees  were  girdled,  and  the 
brush  cut  down  and  burned,  preparatory  to  plough- 
ing the  field.  A  garden  spot  was  marked  off,  the 
virgin  earth  thrown  up  and  softened,  and  then  given 
in  charge  to  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  estab- 
lishment. They  brought  out  their  stock  of  seeds, 
gathered  in  the  old  settlements,  and  every  bright 
day  saw  them  engaged  in  the  light  and  healthful 
occupation  of  planting  them.  They  were  protect- 
ed by  the  vicinity  of  their  husbands  and  fathers,  and 
in  turn  cheered  them  in  their  severer  labors.  The 
Indians  had  forborne  any  attacks  upon  the  settlers 
so  long,  that,  as  is  naturally  the  case,  they  had  ceas- 
ed in  a  degree  to  dwell  upon  the  danger  always  to 
be  apprehended  from  them.  The  men  did  not  fail 
to  take  their  rifles  and  knives  with  them  whenever 
they  went  abroad;  but  tlie  women  ventured  occa- 
sionally a  short  distance  without  the  palisades  during 
the  day,  never,  however,  losing  sight  of  the  fort. 
This  temerity  was  destined  to  cost  them  dear. 

Colonel  Calloway,  the  intimate  friend  of  Boone, 
had  joined  him  in  the  course  of  tlic  spring,  at  the 
fort,  which  had  received,  by  the  consent  of  all,  t!ie 
name  of  Booncsborough.  He  had  two  daughters. 
Captain  Boone  had  a  daughter  also,  and  the  three 
were  companions;  and,  if  we  may  take  the  portraits 
of  the  rustic  time,  patterns  of  youthful  bloom  and 

loveliness.     It  cannot  be  doubted   that  they  were 

8 


86  LIFE    OF     DAMEL    BOONE. 

inexpressibly  dear  to  their  parents.  These  girls,  at 
the  close  of  a  beautiful  summer  day,  the  14th  of 
July,  were  tempted  imprudently  to  wander  into  the 
woods  at  no  great  distance  from  their  habitations, 
to  gather  flowers  with  which  to  adorn  their  rustic 
fire-places.  They  were  suddenly  surrounded  by 
half  a  dozen  Indians.  Their  shrieks  and  efforts  to 
flee  were  alike  unavailing.  They  were  dragged 
rapidly  beyond  the  power  of  making  themselves 
heard.  As  soon  as  they  were  deemed  to  be  beyond 
the  danger  of  rescue,  they  were  treated  with  the  ut- 
most indulgence  and  decorum. 

This  forbearance,  of  a  race  that  we  are  accustom- 
ed to  call  savages,  was  by  no  means  accidental,  or 
peculiar  to  this  case.  While  in  battle,  they  are  un- 
sparing and  unrelenting  as  tigers — while,  after  the 
fury  of  its  excitement  is  past,  they  will  exult  with 
frantic  and  demoniac  joy  in  the  cries  of  their  vic- 
tims expiring  at  a  slow  fire — while  they  dash  the 
tomahawk  with  merciless  indifference  into  the  clo- 
ven skulls  of  mothers  and  infants,  they  are  univer- 
sally seen  to  treat  captive  women  with  a  decorous 
forbearance.  This  strange  trait,  so  little  in  keeping 
with  other  parts  of  their  character,  has  been  attrib- 
uted by  some  to  their  want  of  the  sensibilities  and 
passions  of  our  race.  The  true  solution  is,  the  force 
of  their  habits.  Honor,  as  they  estimate  it,  is,  with 
them,  the  most  sacred  and  inviolable  of  all  laws. 
The  decorum  of  forbearance  towards  women  in  their 
power  has  been  incorporated  with  their  code  as  the 
peculiar  honor  of  a  warrior.  It  is  usually  kept  sa- 
cred and    inviolate.      Instances    are    not   wanting 


LIFE   OF    DANI£L    BOONE.  87 

^rhere  they  have  shown  themselves  the  most  ardent 
lovers  of  their  captives,  and,  we  may  add,  most  suc- 
cessful in  gaining  their  voluntary  affection  in  return. 
Enough  such  examples  are  recorded,  were  other 
proofs  wanting,  to  redeem  their  forbearance  from 
the  negative  character  resulting  from  the  want  of 
passions. 

The  captors  of  these  young  ladies,  having  reach- 
ed the  main  body  of  their  people,  about  a  dozen  in 
number,  made  all  the  provision  in  their  power  for 
the  comfort  of  their  fair  captives.  They  served 
them  with  their  best  provisions,  and  by  signs  and 
looks  that  could  not  be  mistaken,  attempted  to 
soothe  their  agonies,  and  quiet  their  apprehensions 
and  fears.  The  parents  at  the  garrison,  having  wait- 
ed in  vain  for  the  return  of  their  gay  and  beloved 
daughters  to  prepare  their  supper,  and  in  torments 
of  suspense  that  may  easily  be  imagined,  until  the 
evening,  became  aware  that  they  were  either  lost 
or  made  captives.  They  sallied  forth  in  search  of 
them,  and  scoured  the  woods  in  every  direction, 
without  discovering  a  trace  of  them.  They  were 
then  but  too  well  convinced  that  they  had  been  ta- 
ken by  the  Indians.  Captam  Boone  and  Colonel 
Calloway,  the  agonizing  parents  of  the  lost  ones, 
appealed  to  the  company  to  obtain  volunteers  to 
pursue  the  Indians,  under  an  oath,  if  they  found  the 
captors,  either  to  retake  their  daughters,  or  die  in 
the  attempt.  The  oath  of  Boone  on  this  occasion  is 
recorded:  "By  the  Eternal  Power  that  made  me  a 
father,  if  my  daughter  lives,  and  is  found,  I  will 
either  bring  her  back,  or  spill  my  life  blood."     The 


88  Ln^E    OF    DANFEL    BOONE. 

oath  was  no  sooner  uttered  than  every  individual  of 
the  males  crowded  round  Boone  to  repeat  it.  But 
he  reminded  them  that  a  part  of  their  number  must 
remain  to  defend  the  station.  Seven  select  persons 
only  were  admitted  to  the  oath,  along  with  the  fath- 
ers of  the  captives.  The  only  difficulty  was  in  ma- 
king the  selection.  Supplying  themselves  with 
knapsacks,  rifles,  ammunition,  and  provisions,  the 
party  set  forth  on  the  pursuit. 

Hitherto  they  had  been  unable  to  find  the  trail  of 
the  captors.  Happily  th^y  fell  upon  it  by  accident. 
But  the  Indians,  according  to  their  custom,  had  ta- 
ken so  much  precaution  to  hide  their  trail,  that 
they  found  themselves  exceedingly  perplexed  to 
keep  it,  and  they  were  obliged  to  put  forth  all  the 
acquirement  and  instinct  of  woodsmen  not  to  find 
themselves  every  moment  at  fault  in  regard  to  their 
course.  The  rear  Indians  of  the  file  had  covered 
their  foot  prints  with  leaves.  They  often  turned  off 
at  right  angles;  and  whenever  they  came  to  a 
branch,  walked  in  the  water  for  some  distance.  At 
a  place  of  this  sort,  the  pursuers  were  for  some  time 
wholly  unable  to  find  at  what  point  the  Indians  had 
left  the  branch,  and  began  to  despair  of  regaining 
their  trail.  In  this  extreme  perplexity,  one  of  the 
company  was  attracted  by  an  indication  of  their 
course,  which  proved  that  the  daughters  shared  the 
sylvan  sagacity  of  their  parents.  "God  bless  my 
dear  child,"  exclaimed  Colonel  Calloway;  "she  has 
proved  that  she  had  strength  of  mind  in  her  deplo- 
rable condition  to  retain  self-possession."  At  the 
same  instant  he  picked  up  a  little  piece  of  ribbon, 


LIFE   OP    DaNIEi.    B0,NB.  f^ 

which  he  instantly  recognized  as  his  daugl  ter's. 
She  had  evidently  committed  it  unobserved  to  the 
air,  to  indicate  the  course  of  her  captors.  The  trail 
was  soon  regained,  and  the  company  resumed  their 
march  with  renewed  alacrity. 

They  were  afterwards  often  at  a  loss  to  keep  the 
trail,  from  the  extreme  care  of  the  Indians  to  cover 
and  destroy  it.     But  still,  in  their  perplexitv,  the  sa- 
gacious  expedient  of  the   fair  young  captives  put 
them  right.     A  shred  of  their  handkerchief,  or  ot 
some  part  of  their  dress,  which  they  had  intrusted 
to  the  wind  unobserved,  indicated  their  course,  and 
that  the  captives  were  thus  far  not  only  alive,  but 
that  their  reasoning  powers,  unsubdued  by  fatigue 
were  active  and  buoyant.      Next  day,  in  passing 
places   covered    with    mud,  deposited    by  the   dry 
branches  on  the  way,  the  foot  prints  of  the  captives 
were  distinctly  traced,  until  the  pursuers  had  learned 
to  discriminate  not  only  the  number,  but  the  peculiar 
form  of  each  foot  print. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  fifteenth  day's  pursuit, 
liom  a  httle  eminence,  they  discovered  in  the  dis- 
tance before  them,  through  the  woods,  a  smoke  and 
the  hght  of  a  fire.     The  palpitation  of  their  paren- 
tal  hearts  may    be  easily  imagined.     They  could 
not  doubt  that  it  was  the   camp  of  the   captors  ol 
their  children.     The  plan  of  recapture  was  intrus- 
ted entirely  to  Boone.     He  led  his  company  as  near 
the  enemy  as  he  deemed  might  be  done  with  safety, 
and  selecting  a  position  under  the  shelter  of  a  hill 
ordered    them  to  halt,  with   a  view  to  passing  the' 
nignt  in  that  place.     They  then  silantlv  took  food 


00  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONB. 

as  the  agitation  of  their  minds  would  allow.  All 
but  Calloway,  another  selected  person  of  their  num- 
ber, and  himself,  were  permitted  to  lie  down,  and 
get  that  sleep  of  which  they  had  been  so  long  de- 
prived. The  three  impatiently  waited  for  midnight, 
when  the  sleep  of  the  Indians  would  be  most  likely 
to  be  profound.  They  stationed  the  third  person 
selected,  on  the  top  of  the  eminence,  behind  which 
they  were  encamped,  as  a  sentinel  to  await  a  given 
signal  from  the  fathers,  which  should  be  his  indica- 
tion to  fly  to  the  camp  and  arouse  the  sleepers,  and 
bring  them  to  their  aid.  Then  falling  prostrate,  they 
crept  cautiously,  and  as  it  were  by  inches,  towards 
the  Indian  camp. 

Having  reached  a  covert  of  bushes,  close  by  the 
Indian  camp,  and  examined  as  well  as  they  could  by 
the  distant  light  of  the  camp-fires,  the  order  of  their 
rifles,  they  began  to  push  aside  the  bushes,  and  sur- 
vey the  camp  through  the  opening.  Seventeen  In- 
dians were  stretched,  apparently  in  sound  sleep,  on 
the  ground.  But  they  looked  in  vain  among  them 
for  the  dear  objects  of  their  pursuit.  They  were  not 
long  in  discovering  another  camp  a  little  remote 
from  that  of  the  Indians.  They  crawled  cautiously 
round  to  take  a  survey  of  it.  Here,  to  their  inex- 
pressible joy,  were  their  daughters  in  each  others 
arms.  Directly  in  front  of  their  camp  were  two 
Indians,  with  their  tomahawks  and  other  weapons 
within  their  grasp.  The  one  appeared  to  be  in  a 
sound  sleep,  and  the  other  keeping  the  most  circum- 
epec.tive  vigils. 

The  grand  object  now  was  to  get  possession  of  the 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE,  91 

prisoners  without  arousing  their  captors,  the  conse- 
quence of  which  it  was  obvious,  would  be  the  immo 
diate  destruction  of  the  captives.  Boone  made  a 
signal  to  Calloway  to  take  a  sure  aim  at  the  sleeping 
Indian,  so  as  to  be  able  to  despatch  him  in  a  moment, 
if  the  emergency  rendered  that  expedient  necessary. 
Boone,  the  while,  crawled  round,  so  as  to  reach  the 
waking  Indian  from  behind;  intending  to  spring 
upon  him  and  strangle  him,  so  as  to  prevent  his  mak- 
ing a  noise  to  aw^aken  the  sleeper.  But,  unfortu- 
nately, this  Indian  instead  of  being  asleep  was  w  ide 
awake,  and  on  a  careful  look  out.  The  shadow  of 
Boone  coming  on  them  from  behind,  aroused  him. 
He  sprang  erect,  and  uttered  a  yell  that  made  the 
ancient  woods  ring,  leaving  no  doubt  that  the  other 
camp  would  be  instantly  alarmed.  The  captives, 
terrified  by  the  war  yell  of  their  sentinels,  added 
their  screams  of  apprehension,  and  every  thing  was 
in  a  moment  in  confusion.  The  first  movement  of 
Boone  was  to  fire.  But  the  forbearance  of  Callo- 
way, and  his  own  nfiOre  prudent  second  thought, 
restrained  him.  It  was  hard  to  forego  such  a  chance 
for  vengeance,  but  their  own  lives  and  their  chil- 
dren's would  probably  pay  the  forfeit,  and  they  fired 
not.  On  the  contrary,  they  surrendered  themselves 
lo  the  Indians,  who  rushed  furiously  in  a  mass  around 
ihem.  By  significant  gestures,  and  a  few  Indian 
words,  which  they  had  learned,  they  implored  the 
lives  of  their  captive  children,  and  opportunity  for 
a  parley.  Seeing  them  in  their  power,  and  compre- 
hending the  language  of  defenceless  suppliants,  theii 
I'liy  was  at   length  with  some   difticulty  restrained 


9*.^  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE» 

and  appeased.  They  seemed  evidently  under  the 
influence  of  a  fcehng  of  compassion  towards  tlie 
daughters,  to  which  unquestionably  the  adventurous 
fathers  were  indebted,  that  their  lives  were  not  in- 
stantly sacrificed.  Binding  them  firmly  with  cords, 
and  surrounding  them  with  sentinels,  the  Indians  re- 
tired to  their  camp,  not  to  resume  their  sleep,  but  to 
hold  a  council  to  settle  the  fate  of  their  new  pris- 
oners. 

What  were  the  thoughts  of  the  captive  children, 
or  of  the  disinterested  and  brave  parents,  as  they 
found  themselves  bound,  and  once  more  in  the  power 
of  their  enemies — what  was  the  bitter  disappoint- 
ment of  the  one,  and  the  agonizing  filial  apprehen- 
sion of  the  other — may  be  much  more  readily  ima- 
gined than  described.  But  the  Hght  of  the  dawn 
enabled  the  daughters  to  see,  in  the  countenances 
of  their  fathers,  as  they  lay  bound  and  surrounded  by 
fierce  savages,  unextinguishable  firmness,  and  un- 
daunted resolution,  and  a  consciousness  of  nobis  mo- 
tives; and  they  imbibed  from  the  view  something  of 
the  magnanimity  of  their  parents,  and  assumed  that 
demeanor  of  composure  and  resolute  endurance 
which  is  always  the  readiest  expedient  to  gain  all  the 
respect  and  forbearance  that  an  Indian  can  grant. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  fancy  a  state  of  more  tortu- 
ring suspense  than  that  endured  by  the  companions 
of  Boone  and  Calloway,  who  had  been  left  behind 
the  hill.  Though  they  had  slept  httle  since  the 
commencement  of  the  expedition,  and  had  been  en- 
couraged by  the  two  fathers,  their  leaders  to  deep 


LIFE   OF    D/  MEL    BOONE.  9S 

that  night,  the  emergency  was  too  exciting  to  admit 
ofsleep. 

Often,  during  the  night,  had  they  aroused  them- 
selves, in  expectation  of  the  return  of  the  fathers,  or 
of  a  signal  for  action.  But  the  night  wore  away,  and 
the  morning  dawned,  without  bringing  either  the  one 
or  the  other.  But  notwithstanding  this  distressing 
state  of  suspense,  they  had  a  confidence  too  un- 
doubting  in  the  firmness  and  prudence  of  their  leader, 
to  think  of  approaching  the  Indian  camp  until  they 
should  receive  the  appointed  signal. 

It  would  naturally  be  supposed  that  the  delibera- 
tion of  the  Indian  council,  which  had  been  held  to 
settle  the  fate  of  Boone  and  Calloway,  would  end  in 
Bentencing  them  to  run  the  gauntlet,  and  then  amidst 
the  brutal  laughter  and  derision  of  their  captors, 
to  be  burnt  to  death  at  a  slow  fire.  Had  the 
prisoners  betrayed  the  least  signs  of  fear,  the  least 
indications  of  a  subdued  mind,  such  would  in  all 
probability  have  been  the  issue  of  the  Indian  con- 
sultation. Such,  however,  w^as  not  the  result  of  the 
council.  It  was  decreed  that  they  should  be  killed 
with  as  little  noise  as  possible ;  their  scalps  taken  as 
trophies,  and  that  their  daughters  should  remain 
captives  as  before.  The  lenity  of  this  sentence  may 
be  traced  to  two  causes.  The  daring  hardihood, 
the  fearless  intrepidity  of  the  adventure,  inspired 
them  with  unqualified  admiration  for  their  captives. 
Innumerable  instances  have  since  been  recorded, 
where  the  most  inveterate  enemies  have  boldly  ven- 
tured into  the  camp  of  their  enemy,  have  put  them- 
clves  in  their  power,  defied  them  to  their  face  and 


9i  UFB^   Orif    DAI^IKL    hOO.MI^ 

have  ereated  an  admiration  of  their  fearless  darlng^, 
which  has  caused  that  thej  have  been  spared  and 
dismissed  unmolested.  This  sort  of  feeling  had  its 
influence  on  the  present  occasion  in  favor  of  the 
prisoners.  Another  extenuating  influence  was,  that 
hostilities  between  the  white  and  red  men  in  the 
west  had  as  yet  been  uncommon;  and  the  mutual 
fury  bad  not  been  exasperated  by  murder  and  re- 
taUation. 

As  soon  as  it  was  clear  morning  light,  the  In- 
dian camp  was  in  motion.  As  a  business  pre- 
liminary to  their  march,  Boone  and  Calloway  were 
led  out  and  bound  to  a  tree,  and  the  warriora 
were  selected  who  we/e  to  despatch  them  with  their 
tomahawks.  The  place  of  their  execution  was  se- 
lected at  such  a  distance  from  their  camp,  as  that  the 
daughters  might  not  be  able  to  witness  it.  The 
two  prisoners  were  al  '<idy  at  the  spot,  awaiting  the 
fatal  blow,  when  a  di.^harge  of  rifles,  cutting  down 
two  of  the  savages  at  the  first  shot,  arrested  their 
proceedings.  Another  and  another  discharge  fol- 
lowed. The  Indians  were  as  yet  partially  supplied 
with  fire  arms,  and  had  not  lost  any  of  their  original 
dread  of  the  effects  of  this  artificial  thunder,  and 
the  invisible  death  of  the  balls.  They  were  igno 
rant,  moreover,  of  the  number  of  their  assailants, 
and  naturally  apprehended  it  to  be  greater  than  it 
was.  They  raised  a  yell  of  confusion,  and  disper- 
sed in  every  direction,  leaving  their  dead  behind, 
and  the  captives  to  their  deliverers.  The  next  mo- 
ment the  children  were  in  the  arms  of  their  parents; 
and  the  whole  party,  in  the  unutterable  joy  of  con- 


96  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONK. 

♦ 

quest  and  deliverance,    were  on  their  vvaj  home- 
wards. 

It  need  hardly  be  added  that  the  brave  associatea 
of  the  expedition  who  had  been  left  in  camp,  hav- 
ing waited  the  signal  for  the  return  of  Boone  and 
Calloway,  until  their  patience  and  forbearance  wag 
exhausted,  aware  that  something  serious  must  have 
prevented  their  return,  reconnoitered  the  movement 
of  the  Indians  as  they  moved  from  their  camp  to 
despatch  their  two  prisoners,  and  fired  upon  them 
at  the  moment  they  were  about  to  put  their  sen- 
tence into  execution. 

About  this  time  a  new  element  began  to  exaspe- 
rate and  extend  the  ravages  of  Indian  warfare, 
t  along  the  whole  line  of  the  frontier  settlements. 
The  war  of  Independence  had  already  begun  to 
rage.  The  influence  and  resources  of  Great  Britain 
extended  along  the  immense  chain  of  our  frontier, 
from  the  north-eastern  part  of  Vermont  and  New 
York,  all  the  way  to  the  Mississippi.  Nor  did  this 
nation,  to  her  everlasting  infamy,  hesitate  to  en- 
gage these  infuriate  allies  of  the  wilderness,  whose 
known  rule  of  warfare  was  indiscriminate  vengeance; 
without  reference  to  the  age  or  sex  of  the  foe,  aa 
auxiliaries  in  the  war. 

As  this  biographical  sketch  of  the  life  of  Boone 
is  inseparably  interwoven  with  this  border  scene  of 
massacres,  plunderings,  burnings,  and  captivities,, 
which  swept  the  incipient  northern  and  western  set- 
tlements with  desolation,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to 
take  a  brief  retrospect  of  the  state  of  these  settle- 
menta  at  this  conjuncture  in  the  life  of  Boone. 


UTE   or    DANIEL    BOONE.  flft 


CHAPTER  VIL 


Settlement  of  Harrodsburgh — Indian  mode  of  besieging  and  waifare— • 
Fortitude  and  privation  of  the  Pioneers — The  Indians  attack  Har- 
rodsburgh and  Boonesborough — Description  of  a  Station — Attack 
of  Bryant's  Station. 

A  ROAD  sufficient  for  the  passage  of  pack  horses  in 
single  file,  had  been  opened  from  t\\e  settlements  al- 
ready commenced  on  Holston  river  to  Boonesbo- 
rough in  Kentucky.     It  was  an  avenue  which  soon 
brought  other  adventurers,  with  their  families  to  the 
settlement.    On  the  northern  frontier  of  the  country, 
the  broad  and  unbroken  bosom  of  the  Ohio  opened 
an   easy  liquid  highway  of  access  to  the  country. 
The  first  spots  selected  as  landing  places  Stnd  points 
of  ingress  into  the  country,  were  Limestone — now 
Maysville — at  the  mouth  of  Limestone  creek,  and 
Beargrass     creek,    where    Louisville    now  stands. 
Boonesborough  and   Harrodsburgh  were   the  cnly 
stations  in  Kentucky  sufficiently  strong  to  be  safe 
from  the  incursions  of  the  Indians;  and  even  these 
places  afforded  no  security  a  foot  beyond  the  palis- 
ades.    These  two  places  were  the  central  points  to- 
wards which  emigrants  directed  their  course  from 
Limestone  and  Louisville.     The  routes  from  these 
two  places  were  often  ambushed  by  the  Indians. 
But  notwithstanding  the  danger  of  approach  to  the 
new  country,  and  the  incessant  exposure  during  the 
residence  there,  immigrants  continued  to  arrive  at 
the  stations. 

9 


lO  LIFE   or    DANIEL    BOONE. 

The  first  female  white  settlers  of  Harrodshurgh, 
were  Mrs.  Denton,  McGary,  and  Hogan,  who  came 
with  their  husbands  and  families.  A  number  of 
other  families  soon  followed,  among  whom,  in  1776, 
came  Benjamin  Logan,  with  his  wife  and  family. 
These  were  all  families  of  respectability  and  stand 
ing,  and  noted  in  the  subsequent  history  of  the 
country. 

Hordes  of  savagea  were  soon  afterwards  ascer- 
tained to  have  crossed  the  Ohio,  with  the  purpose 
to  extirpate  these  germs  of  social  establishments  in 
Kentucky.  According  to  their  usual  mode  of  war- 
fare, they  separated  into  numerous  detachments, 
and  dispersed  in  all  directions  through  the  forests. 
This  gave  them  the  aspect  of  numbers  and  strength 
beyond  reality.  It  tended  to  increase  the  appre- 
hensions of  the  recent  immigrants,  inspiring  the  na* 
tural  impressions,  that  the  woods  in  all  directions 
were  full  of  Indians.  It  enabled  them  to  fight  in 
detail, — to  assail  different  settlements  at  the  same 
time,  and  to  fill  the  whole  country  with  consterna- 
tion. 

Their  mode  of  besieging  these  places,  though  not 
at  all  conformable  to  the  notions  of  a  siege  derived 
from  the  tactics  of  a  civilized  people,  was  dictated 
by  the  most  profound  practical  observation,  opera- 
ting upon  existing  circumstances.  Without  cannon 
or  scaling  ladders,  their  hope  of  carrying  a  station, 
or  fortified  place,  was  founded  upon  starving  the  in- 
mates, cutting  off  their  supplies  of  water,  killing 
them,  as  they  exposed  themselves,  in  detail,  or  get- 
ting possession  of  the  station  by  some  of  the  arts  of 


LITE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  09 

dissimulation.  Caution  in  their  tactics  is  still  more 
strongly  inculcated  than  bravery.  Their  first  object 
is  to  secure  themselves;  their  next,  to  kill  their  en- 
emy. This  is  the  universal  Indian  maxim  from  Nt»- 
va  Zembla  to  Cape  Horn.  In  besieging  a  place., 
they  are  seldom  seen  in  force  upon  any  particular 
quarter.  Acting  in  small  parties,  they  disperse 
themselves,  and  lie  concealed  among  bushes  or 
weeds,  behind  trees  or  stumps.  They  ambush  the 
paths  to  the  barn,  spring,  or  field.  They  discharge 
their  rifle  or  let  fly  their  arrow,  and  glide  away  with- 
out being  seen,  content  that  their  revenge  should 
issue  from  an  invisible  source.  They  kill  the  cattle, 
watch  the  watering  places,  and  cut  off  all  supplies. 
During  the  night,  they  creep,  with  the  inaudible 
and  stealthy  step  dictated  by  the  animal  instinct,  to 
a  concealed  position  near  one  of  the  gates,  and  pa- 
tiently pass  many  sleepless  nights,  so  that  they  may 
finally  cut  off  some  ill-fated  person,  who  incautious  y 
comes  forth  in  the  morning.  During  the  day,  if 
there  be  near  the  station  grass,  weeds,  bushes,  or 
any  distinct  elevation  of  the  soil,  however  small, 
they  crawl,  as  prone  as  reptiles,  to  the  place  of  con- 
cealment, and  whoever  exposes  the  smallest  part  of 
his  body  through  any  part  or  chasm,  receives  their 
shot,  behind  the  smoke  of  which  they  instantly 
cower  back  to  their  retreat.  When  they  find  their 
foe  abroad,  they  boldly  rush  upon  him,  and  make 
him  prisoner,  or  take  his  scalp.  At  times  they  ap- 
proach the  walls  or  palisades  with  the  most  auda- 
cious daring,  and  attempt  to  fire  them,  or  beat  down 
the  gate.     They  practice,  with  the  utmost  adroit* 


100  LITE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

ncss,  the  stratagem  of  a  false  alarm  on  one  side 
when  the  real  assault  is  intended  for  the  other. 
With  untiring  perseverance,  when  their  stock  of 
provisions  is  exhausted,  they  set  forth  to  hunt,  as  on 
common  occasions,  resuming  their  station  near  the 
bcseigcd  place  as  soon  as  thej  are  supplied. 

It  must  be  confessed,  that  they  had  many  motives 
lo  this  persevering  and  deadly  hostility,  apart  from 
their  natural  propensity  to  war.  They  saw  this 
new  and  hated  race  of  pale  faces  gradually  getting 
possession  of  their  hunting  grounds,  and  cutting 
down  their  forests.  They  reasoned  forcibly  and 
justly,  that  the  time,  when  to  oppose  these  new  in- 
truders with  success,  was  to  do  it  before  they  had 
become  numerous  and  strong  in  diffused  population 
and  resources.  Had  they  possessed  the  skill  of  cor- 
porate unio!^,  combining  individual  effort  with  a 
general  concert  of  attack,  and  directed  their  united 
for'ce  against  each  settlement  in  succession,  there  is 
little  doubt,  that  at  this  time  tliey  might  have  extir- 
pated the  new  inhabitants  from  Kentucky,  and  have 
restored  it  to  the  empire  of  the  wild  beasts  and  the 
red  men.  But  in  the  order  of  events  it  was  other- 
wise arranged.  They  massacred,  they  burnt,  and 
plundered,  and  destroyed.  They  killed  cattle,  and 
carried  off  the  horses; — inflicting  terror,  poverty, 
and  every  species  of  diftress;  but  were  not  able  to 
make  themselves  absolute  masters  of  a  single  station. 

It  has  been  found  by  experiment,  that  the  settlers 
in  such  predicaments  of  danger  and  apprehension, 
act  under  a  most  spirit-stirring  excitement,  which, 
notwithstanding  its  alarms,  is  not  without  its  plea- 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  101 

sures.  They  acquired  fortitude,  dexterity,  and  that 
kind  of  courage  wliich  results  from  becoming  fa- 
miliar with  exposure. 

The  settlements  becoming  extended,  the  Indians, 
in  their  turn,  were  obliged  to  put  themselves  on  the 
defejpj4>'G.  They  cowered  in  the  distant  woods  for 
con^^ment,  or  resorted  to  them  for  hunting.  In 
these  intervals,  the  settlers,  who  had  acquired  a 
kind  of  instinctive  intuition  to  know  when  their  foe 
was  near  them,  or  had  retired  to  remoter  forests, 
went  forth  to  plough  their  corn,  gather  in  their 
harvests,  collect  their  cattle,  and  pursue  their  agri- 
cultural operations.  These  were  their  holyday  sea- 
sons for  hunting,  during  which  they  often  exchanged 
shots  with  their  foe.  The  night,  as  being  most  se- 
cure from  Indian  attack,  was  the  common  season 
selected  for  journeying  from  garrison  to  ga,  risen. 

We,  who  live  in  the  midst  of  scenes  of  abundance 
and  tranquillity  can  hardly  imagine  how  a  country 
could  fill  with  inhabitants,  under  so  many  circum- 
stances of  terror,  in  addition  to  all  the  hardsliipi 
incident  to  the  commencement  of  new  establish- 
ments in  the  wilderness;  such  as  want  of  society, 
want  of  all  the  regular  modes  of  supply,  in  regard 
to  the  articles  most  indispensable  in  every  stage  of 
the  civilized  condition.  There  were  no  mills,  no 
stores,  no  regular  supplies  of  clothing,  salt,  sugar, 
and  the  luxuries  of  tea  and  cotFee.  But  all  these 
dnngers  and  difiicultics  notwithstanding,  under  the 
influence  of  an  inexplicable  propensity,  families  in 
the  old  settlements  used  to  comfort  ?.nd  abundance, 
were  constantly  arriving  to  encounter  all  these  dan- 


102  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

gers  and  privations.  They  began  to  spread  ovei 
the  extensive  and  fertile  country  in  every  direction 
— presenting  such  numerous  and  dispersed  marks  to 
Indian  hostihty,  red  men  became  perplexed,  amidst 
so  many  conflicting  temptations  to  vengeance,  wliich 
to  select. 

The  year  1776  was  memorable  in  the  annals  ot 
Kentucky,  as  that  in  which  General  George  Rogers 
Clark  first  visited  it,  unconscious,  it  may  be,  of  the 
imperishable  honors  which  the  western  country 
would  one  day  reserve  for  him.  This  same  year 
Captain  Wagin  arrived  in  the  country,  aridjixed  in 
a  sohtary  cabin  on  Hinkston's  Fork  of  the  Licking. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  most  of  the  recent 
immigrants  to  Kentucky  returned  to  the  old  settle- 
ments, principally  in  Virginia.  They  carried  with 
them  strong  representations,  touching  the  fertility 
and  advantages  of  their  new  residence;  and  com- 
municated the  impulse  of  their  hopes  and  fears  ex 
tensivcly  among  their  fellow-citizens  by  sj-mpathy, 

The  importance  of  the  new  settlement  was  already 
deemed  to  be  such,  that  on  the  meeting  of  the  legl'V 
lature  of  Virginia,  the  governor  recommended  that 
the  south-western  part  of  the  county  of  Fincastle— 
80  this  vast  tract  of  country  west  of  the  AUeghaniea 
had  hitherto  been  considered — should  be  erected 
into  a  separate  county  by  the  name  of  Kentr.cky. 

This  must  be  considered  an  important  era  in  the 
history  of  the  country.  The  new  county  became 
entitled  to  two  representatives  in  the  legislature  of 
Virginia,  to  a  court  and  judge;  in  a  word,  to  all  the 
customary  civil,  military,  and  judicial  officers  of  a 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  103 

new  county.  In  the  year  1777,  the  county  was  du- 
ly organized,  according  to  the  act  of  the  Virginia 
legislature.  Among  the  names  of  the  first  officers 
in  the  new  county,  we  recognize  those  of  Floyd, 
Bowman,  Logan,  and  Todd. 

Harrodsburgh,  the  strongest  and  most  populous 
station  in  the  country,  had  not  hitherto  been  assail- 
ed by  the  Indians.  Early  in  the  spring  of  1777, 
they  attacked  a  small  body  of  improvers  marching 
to  Harrodsburgh,  about  four  miles  from  that  place. 
Mr.  Kay,  afterwards  General  Kay,  and  his  brother 
were  of  the  party.  The  latter  was  killed,  and  an- 
other man  made  prisoner.  The  fortunate  escape  of 
James  Kay,  then  fifteen  years  old,  was  the  proba- 
ble cause  of  the  saving  of  Harrodsburgh  from  des- 
truction. Flying  from  the  scene  of  attack  and  the 
death  of  his  brother,  he  reached  the  station  and 
gave  the  inhabitants  information,  that  a  large  body 
of  Indians  was  marching  to  attack  the  place.  The 
Indians  themselves,  aware  that  the  inhabitants  had 
been  premonished  of  their  approach,  seem  to  have 
been  disheartened;  for  they  did  not  reach  the  sta- 
tion till  the  next  day.  Of  course,  it  had  been  put 
tn  the  best  possible  state  of  defence,  and  prepared 
for  their  reception. 

The  town  was  now  invested  by  the  savage  force, 
and  something  like  a  regular  siege  commenced.  A 
orisk  firing  ensued.  In  the  course  of  the  day  the  In- 
dians left  one  of  their  dead  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  besieged — a  rare  occurrence,  as  it  is  one  of  their 
most  invariable  customs  to  remove  their  wounded 
and  dead  from  li)c  possession  of  the  cnomy.     The 


104  XJFE  OF   DANIEL    BOO?CB» 

besieged  had  four  men  wounded  and  one  of  them 
mortally.  The  Indians,  unacquainted  with  the 
mode  of  conducting  a  siege,  and  little  accustomed 
to  open  and  fair  light,  and  dispirited  by  the  vigor 
ous  reception  given  them  by  the  station,  soon  de- 
camped, and  dispersed  in  the  forests,  to  supply 
themselves  with  provisions  by  huntmg. 

On  the  15th  of  April,  1777,  a  body  of  one  hundred 
savages  invested  Boonesborough,  the  residence  of 
Daniel  Boone.  The  greater  number  of  the  Indians 
had  fire  arms,  though  some  of  them  were  still  armed 
with  bows  and  arrows.  This  station,  having  its  de- 
fence conducted  by  such  a  gallant  leader,  gave 
them  such  a  warm  reception  that  they  were  glad  to 
draw  olf;  though  not  till  they  had  killed  one  and 
wounded  four  of  the  inhabitants.  Their  loss  could 
not  be  ascertained,  as  they  carefully  removed  their 
dead  and  wounded. 

In  July  following,  the  residence  of  Boone  was 
again  besieged  by  a  body  of  Indians,  whose  number 
was  increased  to  two  hundred.  With  their  rum- 
bers,  their  hardihood  and  audacity  were  increased 
in  proportion.  To  prevent  the  neighboring  stations 
from  sending  assistance,  detachments  from  their  bo- 
dy assailed  most  of  the  adjacent  settlements  at  the 
same  time.  The  gallant  inmates  of  the  station  made 
them  repent  their  temerity,  though,  as  formerly, 
with  some  loss;  one  of  their  number  having  been 
killed  and  two  wounded.  Seven  of  the  Indians  v/ere 
distinctly  counted  from  the  fort  among  the  slain; 
though,  according  to  custom,  the  bodies  were  remo- 
ved.    After  a  close  siege,  and  almost  constant  firing 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  105 

d*-ing  two  days,  the  Indians  raised  a  yell  of  disap- 
pomtment,  and  disappeared  in  the  forests. 

Iq  order  to  present  distinct  views  of  the  sort  of 
enemy,  with  whom  Boone  had  to  do,  and  to  present 
pictures  of  the  aspect  of  Indian   warfare  in   those 
times,  we  might  give  sketches  of  the  repeated  sieges 
of  Harrodsburgh  and  Boonesborough,  against  which 
—as  deemed  the  strong  holds  of  the  Long-knife^  as 
they  called  the  Americans — their  most  formidable 
and  repeated  efforts  were  directed.     There  is  such 
a  sad  and  dreary  uniformity  in  these  narratives,  that 
the  history  of  one  may  almost  stand  for  that  of  all. 
They  alvv^ays  present  more  or  less  killed  and  woun- 
ded on  the  part  of  the  stations,  and  a  still  greater 
number  on  that  of  the  Indians.     Their  attacks  of 
stations  having   been  uniformly   unsuccessful,  th 
returned  to  their  original  modes  of  warfare,  dispe 
sing  themselves  in  small  bodies  over  ail  the  country, 
and  attacking  individual  settlers  in  insulated  cabins, 
and  destroying  women  and  children.     But  as  most 
of  these  annals  belong  to  the  general  history  of  Ken- 
tucky, and  do  not  particularly  tend  to  develop  the 
character  of  the  subject  of  this  biography,  we  shall 
pretermit   them,  with  a  single  exception.     At  the 
expense  of  an  anachronism,  and  as  a  fair  sample  of 
the  rest,  we  shall  present  that,  as  one  of  the  most 
prominent  Indian  sieges  recorded  in  these  early  an- 
nals.   It  will  not  be  considered  an  episode,  if  it  tend 
to  convey  distinct  ideas  of  the  structure  and  form  of 
a  station,  and  the  modes  of  attack  and  defence  in 
those  times.     It  was  in  such  scenes  that  the  fearless 
daring,  united  with  the  cool,  prudent,  and  yet  ctii- 


106 


LIFE    OF    DAMEL    BOOXE. 


cicnt  counsels  of  Daniel  Boone,  were  peculiarly 
conspicuous.  With  this  view  we  offer  a  somewhat 
detailed  account  of  the  attack  of  Bryant's  station. 

As  we  know  of  no  place,  nearer  than  the  sources 
of  the  Mississippi,  or  the  Rocky  Mountains,  where 
the  refuge  of  a  station  is  now  requisite  for  security 
from  the  Indians;  as  the  remains  of  those  that  were 
formerly  built  are  fast  mouldering  to  decay;  and  as 
in  a  few  years  history  will  be  the  only  depository 
of  what  the  term  station  imports,  we  deem  it  right, 
in  this  place,  to  present  as  graphic  a  view  as  we 
may,  of  a  station,  as  we  have  seen  them  in  their 
ruins  in  various  points  of  the  west. 

The  first  immigrants  to  Tennessee  and  Kentucky, 
as  we  have  seen,  came  in  pairs  and  small  bodies. 
These  pioneers  on  their  return  to  the  old  settle- 
ments, brought  back  companies  and  societies. — 
Friends  and  connections,  old  and  young,  mothers 
and  daughters,  flocks,  herds,  domestic  animals,  and 
the  family  dogs,  all  set  forth  on  the  patriarchal  em- 
igration for  the  land  of  promise  together.  No  dis- 
ruption of  the  tender  natal  and  moral  ties;  no  an- 
nil illation  of  the  reciprocity  of  domestic  kindness, 
friendship,  and  love,  took  place.  The  cement  and 
and  panoply  of  affection,  and  good  will  bound  them 
together  at  once  in  the  social  tie,  and  the  union  for 
defence.  Like  the  gregarious  tenants  of  the  air  in 
their  annual  migrations,  they  brought  their  true 
home,  that  is  to  say  their  charities  with  them.  In 
their  state  of  extreme  isolation  from  the  world  they 
had  left,  the  kindly  social  propensities  were  found 
to  grow  more  strong  in  the  wilderness.     The  cur- 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  107 

rent  of  human  afTections  in  fact  naturally  flows  in  a 
deeper  and  more  vigorous  tide,  in  proportion  as  it  is 
diverted  into  fewer  channels. 

These  immigrants  to  the  Bloody  Ground,  coming 
to  survey  new  aspects  of  nature,  new  forests  and 
climates,  and  to  encounter  new  privations,  difficul- 
ties and  dangers,  were  bound  together  by  a  new  sa- 
crament of  friendship,  new  and  unsworn  oaths,  to 
stand  by  each  other  for  life  and  for  death.  How 
often  have  we  heard  the  remains  of  this  primitive 
race  of  Kentucky  deplore  the  measured  distance 
and  jealousy,  the  heathen  rivalry  and  selfishness  of 
the  present  generation,  in  comparison  with  the  uni- 
ty of  heart,  dangers  and  fortunes  of  these  primeval 
times — reminding  one  of  the  simple  kindness,  the 
community  of  property,  and  the  union  of  heart 
among  the  first  Christians ! 

Another  circumstance  of  this  picture  ought  to  be 
redeemed  from  oblivion.  We  suspect  that  the  gen- 
eral impressions  of  the  readers  of  this  day  is,  that 
the  fir?t  hunters  and  settlers  of  Kentucky  and  Ten- 
nessee were  a  sort  of  demi-savages.  Imagination 
iepic^s  them  with  long  beard,  and  a  costume  of 
tskins,  rude,  fierce,  and  repulsive.  Nothing  can  be 
wider  from  the  fact.  These  progenitors  of  the  west 
were  generally  men  of  noble,  square,  erect  forms, 
broad  chests,  clear,  bright,  truth-telling  eyes,  and  of 
vigorous  intellects. 

All  this  is  not  only  matter  of  historical  record,  but 
in  the  natural  order  of  things.  The  first  settlers  of 
America  were  originally  a  noble  stock.  These, 
their  descendants,  had  been  reared  under  circuin- 


108  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

«caiiccs  every  way  calculated  to  give  them  manly 
L'cauty  and  noble  forms.  They  had  breathed  a  free 
and  a  salubrious  air.  The  field  and  forest  exercise 
yielded  them  salutary  viands,  and  appetite  and  di- 
gestion corresponding.  Life  brought  them  the  sen- 
sations of  high  health,  herculean  vigor,  and  redun- 
dant joy. 

When  a  social  band  of  this  description  had  plan- 
ted their  feet  on  the  virgin  soil,  the  (irst  object  was 
to  fix  on  a  spot,  central  to  the  most  fertile  tract  cf 
land  that  could  be  found,  combining  the  advantages 
usually  sought  by  the  first  settlers.  Among  these 
was,  that  the  station  should  be  on  the  summit  of  a 
gentle  swell,  where  pawpaw,  cane,  and  wild  clover, 
marked  exuberant  fertility;  and  where  the  trees 
were  so  sparse,  and  the  soil  beneath  them  so  free 
from  underbrush,  that  the  hunter  could  ride  at  half 
speed.  The  virgin  soil,  as  yet  friable,  untrodden, 
and  not  cursed  with  the  blight  of  politics,  party,  and 
feud,  yielded,  with  little  other  cultivation  than  plant- 
ing, from  eighty  to  a  hundred  bushels  of  maize  to 
the  acre,  and  all  other  edibles  suited  to  the  soil  and 
climate,  in  proportion. 

The  next  thing,  after  finding  this  central  nucleus 
of  a  settlement,  was  to  convert  it  into  a  station,  an 
erection  which  now  remains  to  be  described.  It 
was  a  desirable  requisite,  that  a  station  should  in 
close  or  command  a  flush  limestone  spi-ing,  for  wa- 
ter for  the  settlement.  The  conticiuitv  of  a  snlt 
lick  and  a  sugar  orchard,  though  not  indispensable, 
was  a  very  desirable  circumstance.  The  next  pre- 
liminary step  was  to  clear  a  considerable  area,  so  as 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOO?n5.  109 

to  leave  nothing  within  a  considerable  distance  of 
the  station  that  could  shelter  an  enemy  from  obser- 
vation and  a  shot.  If  a  spring  were  not  inclosed,  or 
a  well  dug  within,  as  an  Indian  siege  seldom  lasted 
beyond  a  few  days,  it  was  customary,  in  periods  of 
alarm  to  have  a  reservoir  of  some  sort  within  the 
station,  that  should  be  filled  with  water  enough  to 
supply  the  garrison,  during  the  probable  continu- 
ance of  a  siege.  It  was  deemed  a  most  important 
consideration,  that  the  station  should  overlook  and 
command  as  much  of  the  surrounding  country  as 
possible. 

The  form  was  a  perfect  parallelogram,  including 
from  a  half  to  a  whole  acre.  A  trench  was  then 
dug  four  or  five  feet  deep,  and  large  and  contiguous 
pickets  planted  in  this  trench,  so  as  to  form  a  com- 
pact wall  from  ten  to  twelve  feet  high  above  the 
soil.  The  pickets  were  of  hard  and  durable  timber, 
about  a  foot  in  diameter.  The  soil  about  them  was 
rammed  hard.  They  formed  a  rampart  beyond  the 
power  of  man  to  leap,  climb,  or  by  unaided  physical 
strength  to  overthrow.  At  the  angles  were  small 
projecting  squares,  of  still  stronger  material  and 
planting,  technically  called  Jlankers^  with  oblique 
port-holes,  so  as  that  the  sentinel  within  could  rake 
the  external  front  of  the  station,  without  being  ex- 
posed to  shot  from  without.  Two  folding  gates  in. 
the  front  and  rear,  swinging  on  prodigious  wooden 
hinges,  gave  egress  and  ingress  to  men  and  teams  in 
times  of  security. 

In  periods  of  alarm  a  trusty  sentinel  on  the   roof 

of  the  building  was  so  stationed,  as  to  be  able  to 

10 


110  LITE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

descry  every  suspicious  object  while  yet  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  gates  were  always  firmly  barred  by 
night;  and  sentinels  took  their  alternate  watch,  and 
relieved  each  other  until  morning.  Nothing  in  the 
line  of  fortification  can  be  imagined  more  easy  of 
construction,  or  a  more  effectual  protection  against 
a  savage  enemy,  than  this  simple  erection.  Though 
the  balls  of  the  smallest  dimensions  of  cannon  would 
have  swept  them  away  with  ease,  they  were  proof 
against  the  Indian  rifle,  patience,  and  skill.  The 
only  expedient  of  the  red  men  was  to  dig  under 
them  and  undermine  them,  or  destroy  them  by  fire; 
and  even  this  could  not  be  done  without  exposing 
them  to  the  rifles  of  the  flankers.  Of  course,  there 
are  few  recorded  instances  of  their  having  been  ta- 
ken, when  defended  by  a  garrison,  guided  by  such 
men  as  Daniel  Boone. 

Their  regular  form,  and  their  show  of  security, 
rendered  these  walled  cities  in  the  central  wilder- 
ness delightful  spectacles  in  the  eye  of  immigrants 
who  had  come  two  hundred  leagues  without  seeing 
a  human  habitation.  Around  the  interior  of  these 
walls  the  habitations  of  the  immigrants  arose,  and 
the  remainder  of  the  surface  was  a  clean-tuifcd  area 
for  wrestling  and  dancing,  and  the  vigorous  and 
athletic  amusements  of  the  olden  time,  it  is  ques- 
tionable if  heartier  dinners  and  profounder  sleep 
and  more  exhilarating  balls  and  parties  fall  to  the  lo 
of  their  descendants,  who  ride  in  coaches  and  dwell 
in  mansions.  Venison  and  wild  turkeys,  sweet  po- 
tatoes and  pies,  smoked  on  their  table  j   and  persim- 


LITE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE.  Hi 

mon  and  maple  beer,  stood  them  well  instead  of  the 
poisonous  whisky  of  their  children. 

The  community,  of  course,  passed  their  social  eve- 
nings together;  and  while  the  fire  blazed  bright 
within  the  secure  square,  the  far  howl  of  wolves,  or 
even  the  distant  war-whoop  of  the  savages,  sounded 
in  the  ear  of  the  tranquil  in-dwellers  like  the  driving 
storm  pouring  on  the  sheltering  roof  above  the  head 
of  the  traveller  safely  reposing  in  his  bed;  that  is, 
brought  the  contrast  of  comfort  and  security  with 
more  home-felt  influence  to  their  bosom. 

Such  a  station  was  Bryant's,  no  longer  ago  than 
1782.  It  was  the  nucleus  of  the  settlements  of  that 
rich  and  delightful  country,  of  which  at  present 
Lexington  is  the  centre.  There  were  but  two  oth- 
ers of  any  importance,  at  this  time  north  of  Ken- 
tuck)'  liver.  It  was  more  open  to  attack  than  any 
other  ill  the  country.  The  Miami  on  the  north,  and 
the  Licking  on  the  south  of  the  Ohio,  were  long 
canals,  which  floated  the  Indian  canoes  from  the 
northern  hive  of  the  savages,  between  the  lakes  and 
the  Ohio,  directly  to  its  vicinity.  ^^^ 

In  the  summer  of  this  year  a  grand  Indian  asse^^ 
blage  took  place  at  Chillicothc,  a  famous  central  In- 
dian town  oil  the  Little  Miami.  The  Cherokees, 
Wyandots,  Tawas,  Pottawattomies,  and  most  of  the 
tribes  bordering  on  the  lakes,  were  represented  in  it. 
Besides  their  chiefs  and  some  Canadians,  they  were 
aided  by  the  counsels  of  the  two  Girtys,  and  McKce, 
renegade  whites.  We  have  made  diligent  enquiry 
toucliing  the  biography  of  these  men,  particularly 
Simon  Girty,  a  wretch  of  most  infamous  notoriety  in 


112  LIFE   OP   DANIEL   BOONE. 

those  times,  as  a  more  successful  instigator  of  Indian 
assault  and  massacre,  than  any  name  on  record. 
Scarcely  a  tortured  captive  escaped  from  the  north- 
ern Indians,  who  could  not  tell  the  share  which  this 
villain  had  in  his  sufferings — no  burning  or  murder 
of  prisoners,  at  which  he  had  not  assisted  by  his 
presence  or  his  counsels.  These  refugees  from  our 
white  settlements,  added  the  calculation  and  power 
of  combining  of  the  whites  to  the  instinctive  cunning 
and  ferocity  of  the  savages.  They  possessed  their 
thirst  for  blood  without  their  active  or  passive  cour- 
age— blending  the  bad  points  of  character  in  the 
whites  and  Indians,  without  the  good  of  either.  The 
cruelty  of  the  Indians  had  some  show  of  palliating 
circumstances,  in  the  steady  encroachments  of  the 
whites  upon  them.  Theirs  was  gratuitous,  cold- 
blooded, and  without  visible  motive,  except  that  they 
appeared  to  hate  the  race  more  inveterately  for  hav- 
ing fled  from  it.  Yet  Simon  Girty,  like  the  Indians 
among  whom  he  lived,  sometimes  took  the  freak  of 
kindness,  nobody  could  divine  why,  and  he  once  or 
twice  saved  an  unhappy  captive  from  being  roasted 
alive. 

This  vile  renegado,  consulted  by  the  Indians  as 
an  oracle,  lived  in  plenty,  smoked  his  pipe,  and 
drank  off  his  whisky  in  his  log  palace.  He  was 
seen  abroad  clad  in  a  ruffled  shirt,  a  red  and  blue 
uniform,  with  pantaloons  and  gaiters  to  match.  He 
was  belted  with  dirks  and  pistols,  and  wore  a  watch 
with  enormous  length  of  chain,  and  m.ost  glaring 
ornaments,  all  probably  the  spoils  of  murdei.  So 
habited,  he  strutted,  in  the  enormity  of  his  cruelty 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE. 


113 


in  view  of  the  ill-fated  captives  of  the  Indians,  like 
the  peacock  spreading  his  morning  plumage.  There 
is  hltle  doubt  that  his  capricious  acts  of  saving  the 
few  that  were  spared  through  his  intercession,  were 
modified  results  of  vanity;  and  that  they  were  spared 
to  make  a  display  of  his  power,  and  the  extent  of 
his  influence  among  the  Indians. 

The  assemblage  of  Indians  bound  to  the  assault 
of  Bryant's  station,  gathered  round  the  shrine  of 
Simon  Girty,  to  hear  the  response  of  this  oracle 
touching  the  intended  expedition.  He  is  said  to 
have  painted  to  them,  in  a  set  speech,  the  abundance 
and  delight  of  the  fair  valleys  of  Kan-tuck-ee,  for 
which  so  much  blood  of  red  men  had  been  shed — 
the  land  of  clover,  deer,  and  buffaloes.  He  descri- 
bed the  gradual  encroachment  of  the  whites,  and 
the  certainty  that  they  would  soon  occupy  the  whole 
land.  He  proved  the  necessity  of  a  vigorous,  united, 
and  persevering  effort  against  them,  now  while  they 
were  feeble,  and  had  scarcely  gained  foot-hold  on 
the  soil,  if  they  ever  intended  to  regain  possession 
of  their  ancient,  rich,  and  rightful  domain;  assuring 
them,  that  as  things  now  went  on,  they  would  soon 
have  no  hunting  grounds  worth  retaining,  no  blan- 
kets  with  which  to  clothe  their  naked  backs,  or  whis- 
ky to  warm  and  cheer  their  desolate  hearts.  They 
were  advised  to  descend  the  Miami,  cross  the  Ohio, 
ascenr.  the  Licking,  paddling  their  canoes  to  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  Bryant's  station,  which  he  coun- 
selled them  to  attack. 

Forthwith,  the  mass  of  biped  wolves  raised  their 
murderous  yell,  as  they  started  for  their  canoes  od 

10» 


4  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

the  Miami.  Girty,  in  his  ruffled  shirt  and  soldier 
coat,  stalked  at  their  head,  silently  feeding  upon  his 
prowess  and  grandeur. 

The  station  against  which  they  were  destined,  in- 
closed forty  cabins.  They  arrived  before  it  on  the 
fifteenth  of  August,  in  the  night.  The  inhabitants 
were  advertised  of  their  arrival  in  the  morning,  by 
being  fired  upon  as  they  opened  the  gates.  The 
time  of  their  arrival  was  apparently  providential. 
In  two  hours  most  of  the  efficient  male  inmates  of 
the  station  were  to  have  marched  to  the  aid  of  two 
other  stations,  which  were  reported  to  have  been  at- 
tacked. This  place  would  thus  have  been  left  com- 
pletely defenceless.  As  soon  as  the  garrison  saw 
themselves  besieged,  they  found  means  to  despatch 
one  of  their  number  to  Lexington,  to  announce  the 
assault  and  crave  aid.  Sixteen  mounted  men,  and 
thirty-one  on  foot,  were  immediately  despatched  to 
their  assistance. 

The  number  of  the  assailants  amounted  to  at  least 
six  hundred.  In  conformity  with  the  common  modes 
of  their  warfare,  they  attempted  to  gain  the  place  by 
stratagem.  The  great  body  concealed  themselves 
among  high  weeds,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  station, 
\\ithin  pistol  shot  of  the  spring  which  supplied  it 
with  water.  A  detachment  of  a  hundred  commen- 
ced a  false  attack  on  the  south-east  angle,  with  a 
view  to  draw  the  whole  attention  of  the  garrison  to 
that  point.  They  hoped  that  while  the  chief  force 
of  the  station  crowded  there,  the  opposite  point 
would  be  left  defenceless.  In  this  instance  they 
reckoned  without  their  host.  The  people  penetrated 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  115 

ilieiT  deception,  and  instead  of  returning  their  fire, 
commenced  what  had  been  imprudently  neglected, 
the  repairing  their  palisades,  and  putting  the  station 
in  a  better  condition  of  defence.  The  tall  and  lux- 
uriant strammonj  weeds  instructed  these  wary  back- 
woodsmen to  suspect  that  a  host  of  their  tawny  foe 
lay  hid  beneath  their  sheltering  foliage,  lurking  for  a 
chance  to  fire  upon  them,  as  they  should  come  forth 
for  water. 

Let  modern  wives,  who  refuse  to  follow  their  hus- 
bands abroad,  alleging  the  danger  of  the  voyage  or 
journey,  or  the  unhealthiness  of  the  proposed  resi 
dence,  or  because  the  removal  will  separate  them 
from  the  pleasures  of  fashion  and  society,  contem- 
plate the  example  of  the  wives  of  the  defenders  of 
this  station.  These  noble  mothers,  wives,  and  daugh- 
ters, assuring  the  men  that  there  was  no  probability 
that  the  Indians  would  fire  upon  them,  offered  to  go 
out  and  draw  water  for  the  supply  of  the  garrison, 
and  that  even  if  they  did  shoot  down  a  few  of  them, 
it  would  not  reduce  the  resources  of  the  garrison  as 
would  the  killing  of  the  men.  The  illustrious  hero- 
ines took  up  their  buckets,  and  marched  out  to  the 
spring,  espying  here  and  there  a  painted  face,  or  an 
Indian  body  crouched  under  the  covert  of  the  weeds, 
Whether  their  courage  or  their  beauty  fascinated 
<he  Indians  to  suspend  their  fire,  does  not  appear. 
But  it  was  so,  that  these  generous  women  came  and 
went  until  the  reservoir  was  amply  supplied  with 
irater.  Who  will  doubt  that  the  husbands  of  such 
wives  must  have  been  alike  gallant  and  affectionate' 

After  this  example,  it  was  not  difficult  to  procure 


116  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE, 

some  joung  volunteers  to  tempt  the  Indians  in  the 
same  way.  As  was  expected,  they  had  scarcely  ad- 
vanced beyond  their  station,  before  a  hundred  Indi- 
ans fired  a  shower  of  balls  upon  them,  happily  too 
remote  to  do  more  than  inflict  slight  wounds  with 
spent  balls.  They  retreated  within  the  palisades, 
and  the  whole  Indian  force,  seeing  no  results  from 
stratagem,  rose  from  their  covert  and  rushed  towards 
the  palisade.  The  exasperation  of  their  rage  may 
be  imagined,  when  they  found  every  thing  prepared 
for  their  reception.  A  well  aimed  fire  drove  them 
to  a  more  cautious  distance.  Some  of  the  more 
audacious  of  their  number,  however,  ventured  so 
near  a  less  exposed  point,  as  to  be  able  to  discharge 
burning  arrows  upon  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  Some 
of  them  were  fired  and  burnt.  But  an  easterly  wind 
providentially  arose  at  the  moment,  and  secured  the 
mass  of  the  habitations  from  the  further  spread  of 
the  flames.  These  they  could  no  longer  reach  with 
their  burning  arrows. 

The  enem.y  cowered  back,  and  crouched  to  theif 
covert  in  the  weeds ;  where,  panther-like,  they  waited 
for  less  dangerous  game.  They  had  divided,  on 
being  informed,  that  aid  was  expected  from  Lexing- 
ton; and  they  arranged  an  ambuscade  to  intercept 
it,  on  its  approach  to  the  garrison.  When  the  rein- 
forcement, consisting  of  forty-six  persons,  came  in 
sight,  the  firing  had  wholly  ceased,  and  the  invisible 
enemy  were  profoundly  still.  The  auxiliaries  hur- 
ried on  in  reckless  confidence,  under  the  impression 
that  they  had  come  on  a  false  alarm.  A  lane  opened 
an  avenue  to  the  station,  through  a  thick  cornfield. 


UFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  117 

This  lane  was  way-laid  on  either  side,  by  Indians, 
for  six  hundred  yards.  Fortunately,  it  was  mid-sum- 
mer, and  dry;  and  the  horsemen  raised  so  thick  a 
cloud  of  dust,  that  the  Indians  could  fire  only  at  ran- 
dom amidst  the  palpable  cloud,  and  happily  killed 
not  a  single  man.  The  footmen  were  less  fortunate. 
Being  behind  the  horse,  as  soon  as  they  heard  the 
firing,  they  dispersed  into  the  thick  corn,  in  hopes  to 
reach  the  garrison  unobserved.  They  were  inter- 
cepted by  masses  of  the  savages,  who  threw  them- 
selves between  them  and  the  station.  Hard  fighting 
ensued,  in  which  two  of  the  footmen  were  killed  and 
four  wounded.  Soon  after  the  detachment  had 
joined  their  friends,  and  the  Indians  were  again 
crouching  close  in  their  covert,  the  numerous  flocks 
and  herds  of  the  station  came  in  from  the  woods  as 
usual,  quietly  ruminating,  as  they  made  their  way 
towards  their  night-pens.  Upon  these  harmless  ani- 
mals the  Indians  wreaked  unmolested  revenge,  and 
completely  destroyed  them. 

A  little  after  sunset  the  famous  Simon,  in  all  his 
official  splendor,  covertly  approached  the  garrison, 
mounted  a  stump,  whence  he  could  be  heard  by  the 
people  of  the  station,  and  holding  a  flag  of  truce, 
demanded  a  parley  and  the  surrender  of  the  place. 
He  managed  his  proposals  with  no  small  degree  of 
art,  assigning,  in  imitation  of  the  commanders  of  what 
are  called  civilized  armies,  that  his  proposals  were 
dictated  by  humanity  and  a  wish  to  spare  the  effusion 
of  blood.  He  affirmed,  that  in  case  of  a  prompt  sur- 
render, he  could  answer  for  the  safety  of  the  priso- 
ners; but  that  in  the  event  of  taking  the  garrison  by 


118  LIFE    OP   DANIEL   BOONE. 

storm,  he  could  not;  that  cannon  and  a  reinforcement 
were  approaching,  in  which  case  they  must  be  aware 
that  their  palisades  could  no  longer  interpose  any  re* 
sistance  to  their  attack,  or  secure  them  from  the  ven- 
geance of  an  exasperated  foe.  He  calculated  that 
his  imposing  language  would  have  the  more  effect  in 
producing  belief  and  consternation,  inasmuch  as  the 
garrison  must  know,  that  the  same  foe  had  used  can- 
non in  the  attack  of  Ruddle's  and  Martin's  stations. 
Two  of  their  number  had  been  already  slain,  and 
there  were  four  wounded  in  the  garrison ;  and  some 
faces  were  seen  to  blanch  as  Girty  continued  his  har 
angue  of  menace,  and  insidious  play  upon  their  fears. 
Some  of  the  more  considerate  of  the  garrison,  appri- 
sed by  the  result,  of  the  folly  of  allowing  such  a  ne- 
gotiation to  intimidate  the  garrison  in  that  way,  called 
out  to  shoot  the  rascal,  adding  the  customary  Ken- 
tucky epithet.  Girty  insisted  upon  the  universal 
protection  every  where  accorded  to  a  flag  of  truce, 
while  this  parley  lasted;  and  demanded  with  great 
assumed  dignity,  if  they  did  not  know  who  it  was 
that  thus  addressed  them? 

A  spirited  young  man,  named  Reynolds,  of  whom 
the  most  honorable  mention  is  made  in  the  subsequent 
annals  of  the  contests  with  the  Indians,  was  selected 
by  the  garrison  to  reply  to  the  renegado  Indian  nego- 
tiator. His  object  seems  to  have  been  to  remove  the 
depression  occasioned  by  Girty's  speech,  by  treating 
it  with  derision;  and  perhaps  to  establish  a  reputation 
for  successful  waggery,  as  he  nad  Already  for  hard 
fighting. 

"You  ask,"  answered  he#  "if  we  do  not  Know  you 2 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  119 

Know  you!  Yes.  We  know  you  too  well.  Know 
Simon  Girty!  Yes.  He  is  the  renegado,  cowardl_y 
villain,  who  loves  to  murder  women  and  children, 
especially  those  of  his  own  people.  Know  Simon 
Girty!  Yes.  His  father  was  a  panther  and  his  dam 
a  wolf.  I  have  a  worthless  dog,  that  kills  lambs. 
Instead  of  shooting  him,  I  have  named  him  Simon 
Girty.  You  expect  reinforcements  and  cannon,  do 
you?  Cowardly  wretches,  like  you,  that  make  war 
upon  women  and  children,  would  not  dare  to  touch 
them  off,  if  you  had  them.  We  expect  reinforce- 
ments, too,  and  in  numbers  to  give  a  short  account 
of  the  murdering  cowards  that  follow  you.  Even  if 
you  could  batter  down  our  pickets,  I,  for  one,  hold 
your  people  in  too  much  contempt  to  discharge  rifles 
at  them.  Should  you  see  cause  to  enter  our  fort,  I 
have  been  roasting  a  great  number  of  hickory 
switches,  with  which  we  mean  to  whip  your  naked 
cut-throats  out  of  the  country." 

Simon,  apparently  little  edified  or  flattered  by  this 
speech,  wished  him  some  of  his  hardest  curses;  and 
affecting  to  deplore  the  obstinacy  and  infatuation  of 
the  garrison,  the  ambassador  of  ruffled  shirt  and  sol- 
dier coat  withdrew.  The  besieged  gave  a  good  ac- 
count of  every  one,  who  came  near  enough  to  take  a 
fair  shot.  But  before  morning  they  decamped, 
marching  direct  to  the  Blue  Licks,  where  they  ob- 
tained very  different  success,  and  a  most  signal  and 
bloody  triumph.  We  shall  there  again  meet  Daniel 
Boone,  in  his  accustomed  traits  of  heroism  and  mag- 
nanimity. 


JJFB  OF    DANIEL    BOONK.  121 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

BrKMie  being  attacked  by  two  Indians  near  the  Blue  Licks,  kills  them 
both — Is  afterwards  taken  prisoner  and  marched  to  Old  Chillicolb* 
—Is  adopted  by  the  Iudia4is — Indian  ceremonies. 

We  return  to  the  subject  of  our  memoir,  from 
^hich  the  reader  may  imagine  wc  have  wandered 
too  long.  He  had  already  conducted  the  defence 
of  Boonesborough,  during  two  Indian  i>iegcs.  The 
general  estimate  of  his  activity,  vigilance,  courage, 
and  enterprise,  was  constantly  rising.  By  the  Indi- 
ans he  was  regarded  as  the  most  formidable  and  in- 
telligent captain  of  the  Long-knife;  and  by  the 
settlers  and  immicrrants  as  a  disinterested  and  heroic 
pntriarch  of  tlie  infant  settlements.  He  often  sup- 
plied destitute  families  gratuitously  with  game. 
He  performed  the  duties  of  sur\eyor  and  spy,  gen- 
erally as  a  volunteer,  and  without  compensaiion. 
When  immigrant  families  were  approaching  the 
country,  he  often  went  out  to  meet  them  and  con- 
duct them  to  the  settlements.  Such,  in  general, 
were  the  paternal  feelings  of  tiie  pioneers  of  this 
young  colony. 

The  country  was  easily  and  amply  supplied  with 
meat  from  the  chase,  and  with  vegetables  from  the 
fertility  of  the  soil.  The  hardy  settlers  could  train 
themselves  without  difliculty  to  dispense  with  many 
things  which  habit  and  long  use  in  the  old  settle- 
ments had  led  them  to  consider  as  necessaries.  But 
to  every  form  of  civilized  communities  salt  is  an 

11 


123  1ATB   Of    tiASlBL    BOONK 

indispensable  article.  The  settlement  of  Boones* 
boraugh  had  been  fixed  near  a  lick,  with  a  view  to 
the  supply  of  that  article.  But  the  amount  was 
found  to  be  very  inadequate  to  the  growing  de- 
mand. The  settlement  deemed  it  necessary  to  send 
out  a  company  to  select  a  place  where  the  whole 
country  could  be  supplied  with  that  article  at  a 
reasonable  rate. 

Captain  Boone  was  deputed  by  the  settlers  to 
this  service.  He  selected  thirty  associates,  and  set 
out  on  the  first  of  January,  1779,  for  the  Blue 
Licks,  on  Licking  river,  a  well  known  stream  emp- 
tying  into  the  Ohio,  opposite  where  Cincinnati  now 
stands.  They  arrived  at  the  place,  and  successfully 
commenced  their  operations.  Boone,  instead  of 
taking  a  part  in  the  diunial  and.  uninterrupted  la 
bor  of  evaporating  the  water,  performed  the  more 
congenial  duty  of  hunting  to  keep  the  company  in 
provisions,  while  they  labored.  In  this  pursuit  he 
had  one  day  wandered  some  distance  from  the  bank 
of  the  river.  Two  Indians,  armed  with  muskets,— 
for  they  had  now  generally  added  these  efficient 
weapons  to  their  tomahawks — came  upon  him.  Hia 
first  thought  was  to  retreat.  But  he  discovered 
from  their  nimbleness,  that  this  v,  as  impossible. 
Ilis  second  thought  was  resistance,  and  he  slipped 
behind  a  tree  to  await  their  coming  within  rifle 
ehot.  He  then  exposed  himself  so  as  to  attract  their 
aim.  The  foremost  levelled  his  musket.  Boone, 
who  could  dodge  the  flash,  at  the  puUing  of  the  trig- 
ger, dropped  behind  his  tree  unhurt.  His  next  ob- 
ject was  to  cause  the  fire  of  the  second  musket  to  be 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  123 

thrown  away  in  the  same  manner.  He  again  expo- 
Bcd  a  part  of  his  person.  The  eager  Indian  in- 
stantly fired,  and  Boone  evaded  the  shot  as  before* 
Both  the  Indians,  having  thrown  away  their  fire, 
were  eagerly  striving,  but  with  trembling  hands,  to 
reload.  Trepidation  and  too  much  haste  retarded 
their  object.  Boone  drew  his  rifle  and  one  of 
them  fell  dead.  The  two  antagonists,  now  on 
equal  grounds,  the  one  unsheathing  his  knife,  and 
the  other  poising  his  tomahawk,  rushed  toward  the 
dead  body  of  the  fallen  Indian.  Boone,  placing 
his  foot  on  the  dead  body,  dexterously  received 
the  well  aimed  tomahawk  of  his  powerful  enemy  on 
the  barrel  of  his  rifle,  thus  preventing  his  skull  from 
being  cloven  by  it.  In  the  very  attitude  of  firing 
the  Indian  had  exposed  his  body  to  the  knife  of 
Boone,  who  plunged  it  in  his  body  to  the  hilt* 
This  is  the  achievement  commemorated  in  sculpture 
over  the  southern  door  of  the  Rotunda  in  the  Capi- 
tol at  Washington. 

This  adventure  did  not  deter  him  from  exposing 
himself  in  a  similar  way  again.  He  was  once  more 
hunting  for  the  salt  makers,  when,  on  the  seventh 
day  of  February  following,  he  came  in  view  of  a 
body  of  one  hundred  and  two  Indians,  evidently  on 
their  march  to  the  assault  of  Boonesborough — that 
being  a  particular  mark  for  Indian  revenge.  They 
were  in  want  of  a  prisoner,  from  whom  to  obtain 
intelligence,  and  Boone  was  the  person  of  all  oth- 
ers, whom  they  desired.  He  fled;  but  among  so 
many  warriors,  it  proved,  that  some  were  swifter  of 


1^  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONti. 

foot  than  himself,  and  these  overtook  him  and  made 
him  prisoner. 

By  a  tedious  and  circuitous  march  they  brought 
him  back  to  the  Blue  Licks,  and  took  their  meas- 
ures with  so  much  caution,  as  to  make  twenty-seven 
of  the  thirty  salt  makers  prisoners.  Boone  obtain- 
ed for  them  a  capitulation,  which  stipulated,  that 
their  lives  should  be  spared,  and  that  they  should 
be  kindly  treated.  The  fortunate  three,  that  esca- 
ped, had  just  been  sent  home  with  the  salt  that  had 
been  made  during  their  ill-fated  expedition. 

The  Indians  were  faithful  to  the  stipulations  of 
tlie  capitulation;  and  treated  their  prisoners  with 
as  much  kindness  both  on  their  way,  and  after 
their  arrival  at  Chillicothe,  as  their  habits  and 
means  would  admit.  The  march  was  rapid  and  fa 
tiguing,  occupying  three  days  of  weather  unusually 
cold  and  inclement. 

The  captivity  of  twenty-eight  of  the  select  and 
bravest  of  the  Kentucky  settlers,  without  the  hope 
of  liberation  or  exchange,  was  a  severe  blow  to 
the  infant  settlement.  Had  the  Indians,  after  this 
achievement,  immediately  marched  against  Boones- 
borough,  so  materially  diminished  in  its  means  oi 
defence,  they  might  either  have  taken  the  place  by 
surprise,  or,  availing  themselves  of  the  influence 
which  the  possession  of  these  prisoners  gave  them 
over  the  fears  and  affections  of  the  inmates,  might 
have  procured  a  capitulation  of  the  fort.  Follow- 
ing up  this  plan  in  progression,  the  weaker  station 
would  have  followed  the  example  of  Boonesbo- 
rough;  since  it  is  hardly  supposablc,  that  the  uni- 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  125 

ted  influence  of  fear,  example,  and  the  menace  of 
the  massacre  of  so  many  prisoners  would  not  have 
procured  the  surrender  of  all  the  rest.     But,  though 
on  various  occasions  they  manifested   the  keenest 
observation,   and  the   acutest  quickness  of  instir.c- 
tive    cunning — though    their  plans  were  generally 
predicated  on  the  soundest  reason,  they  showed  in 
tliis,  and  in  all  cases,  a  want  of  the  combination  of 
thought,  and  the  abstract  and  extended  views  of 
the  whites  on  such  occasions.     For  a  single  ellbjt, 
nothing  could  be  imagined  wiser  than  their  views. 
For  a  combination  made  up  of  a  number  of  ele- 
ments of  calculation,  they  had  no  reasoning  powers 
at  all. 

Owing  to  this  want  of  capg,city  for  combined  op- 
erations of  thought,  and  their  habitual  intoxication 
of  excitement,  on  the  issue  of  carrying  some  impor- 
tant enterprise  without  loss,  they  hurried  home  with 
their  prisoners,  leaving  the  voice  of  lamentation  and 
the  sentiment  of  extreme  dejection  among  the  be- 
reaved inmates  of  Boonesborough. 

Throwing  all  the  recorded  incidents  and  circum- 
stances of  the  life  of  Boone,  during  his  captivity 
among  them,  together,  we  shall  reserve  them  for  an- 
other place,  and  proceed  here  to  record  what  befell 
him  among  the  whites. 

He  resided  as  a  captive  among  the  Indians  until 

the  following  March.     At  that  time,  he,  and  ten  of 

the  persons  who  were  taken  with  him  at  the  Blue 

Licks,  were  conducted  by  forty  Indians  to  Detroit, 

where  the  party   arrived  on  the   thirteenth  of  the 

month.     The  ten  men  were  put  into  the  hands  of 

11* 


126 


LIFE    or    1>A.MI.L    BOONE. 


Governor  Hamilton,  who,  to  his.  infinite  credit, 
treated  them  with  kindness.  For  each  of  these 
they  received  a  moderate  ransom.  Such  was  their 
respect,  and  even  affection  for  the  hunter  of  Ken 
tucky,  and  such,  perhaps,  their  estimate  of  his  ca- 
pabihty  of  annoying  them,  that  although  Governor 
Hamilton  offered  them  the  large  sum  of  a  hundred 
pounds  sterling  for  his  ransom,  they  utterly  refused 
to  part  with  him.  It  may  easily  be  imagined,  in 
what  a  vexatious  predicament  this  circumstance 
placed  him;  a  circumstance  so  much  the  more  em- 
barrassing, as  he  could  not  express  his  solicitude  for 
deliverance,  without  alarming  the  jealousy  and  ill 
feeling  of  the  Indians.  Struck  with  his  appear- 
ance and  development  of  character,  several  Eng- 
lish gentlemen,  generously  impressed  with  a  sense 
of  his  painful  position,  offered  him  a  sum  of  money 
adequate  to  the  supply  of  his  necessities.  Unwil- 
ling to  accept  such  favors  from  the  enemies  of  his 
country,  he  refused  their  kindness,  alleging  a  motive 
at  once  conciliating  and  magnanimous,  that  it  would 
probably  never  be  in  his  power  to  repay  them.  It 
will  be  necessary  to  contemplate  his  desolate  and 
forlorn  condition,  haggard,  and  without  any  adequate 
clothing  in  that  inclement  climate,  destitute  of  money 
or  means,  and  at  the  same  lime  to  realize  that  these 
men,  who  so  generously  offered  him  money,  were  m 
league  with  those  that  were  waging  war  against  the 
United  States,  fully  to  appreciate  the  patriotism  and 
magnanimity  of  this  refusal.  It  is  very  probable, 
too,  that  these  men  acted  from  the  interested  motive 
of  wishing   to  bind  the  hand's  of  this  stern  border 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  127 

(R'arnor  from  any  further  annoyance  to  them  and 
their  red  alHes,  by  motives  of  gratitude  and  a  sense 
of  obl.gation. 

It  must  have  been  mortifying  to  his  spirit  to  leave 
his  captive  associates  in  comfortable  habitations  and 
among  a  civilized  people  at  Detroit,  while  he,  the 
single  white  man  of  the  company,  was  obliged  to 
accompany  his  red  masters  through  the  forest  in  a 
long  and  painful  journey  of  fifteen  days,  at  the  close 
of  which  he  found  himself  again  at  Old  Chiilicothe, 
as  the  town  was  called. 

This  town  was  inhabited  by  the  Shawnese,  and 
Boone  was  placed  in  a  most  severe  school,  in  which 
to  learn  Indian  modes  and  ceremonies,  by  being  him- 
self the  subject  of  them.  On  the  return  of  the  party 
that  led  him  to  their  home,  he  learned  that  some 
superstitious  scruple  induced  them  to  halt  at  mid-day 
when  near  their  village,  in  order  to  solemnize  their 
return  by  entering  their  town  in  the  evening.  A 
runner  was  despatched .  from  their  halting  place  to 
instruct  the  chief  and  the  village  touching  the  mate- 
rial incidents  of  their  expedition. 

Before  the  expedition  made  the  triumphal  eAtry 
into  their  village,  they  clad  their  white  prisoner  in  a 
new  dress,  of  material  and  fashion  like  theirs.  They 
proceeded  to  shave  his  head  and  skewer  his  hair  after 
their  own  fashion,  and  then  rouged  him  with  a  plen- 
tiful smearing  of  vermilion  and  put  into  his  hand  a 
white  staff,  gorgeously  tasselated  with  the  tails  of 
deer.  The  war-captain  or  leader  of  the  expedition 
gave  as  many  yells  as  they  had  taken  prisoners  arjd 
E£alps.     This   operated  as  effectually  as  ringing  a 


128  Ut'E    OF    DANIEL    fiOOiMT^ 

tocsin,  to  assemble  the  whole  village  round  the  camp» 
As  soon  as  the  warriors  from  the  village  appeared, 
four  young  warriors  from  the  camp,  the  two  lirst  car- 
rying each  a  calumet,,  approached  the  prisoner,  chan- 
ting a  song  as  they  went,  and  taking  him  by  the  arn^, 
led  him  in  triumph  to  the  cabin,  where  he  was  to 
remain  until  the  announcement  of  his  doom.  The 
resident  in  this  cabin,  by  their  immemorial  usage, 
had  the  power  of  determining  his  fate,  whether  to 
be  tortured  and  burnt  at  the  stake,  or  adopted  into 
the  tribe. 

The  present  occupant  of  the  cabin  happened  to  be 
a  woman,  who  had  lost  a  son  during  the  war.  It  ia 
ycvy  probable  that  she  was  favorably  impressed  to- 
wards him  by  noting  his  fine  person,  and  his  firm 
and  cheerful  visage — circumstances  which  impress 
the  women  of  the  red  people  still  more  strongly  thaa 
the  men.  She  contemplated  him  stedfastly  for  some 
time,  and  sympathy  and  humanity  triumphed,  and  slie 
declared  that  she  adopted  him  in  place  of  the  son  she 
had  lost*  The  two  young  men,  who  bore  the  calu- 
met, instantly  unpinioned  his  hands,  treating  him 
with  kindness  and  respect.  Food  was  brought  him, 
and  he  was  informed  that  he  was  considered  as  a  son, 
and  she,  v/ho  had  adopted  him,  as  his  mother.  He 
was  soon  made  aware,  by  demonstrations  that  could 
not  be  dissembled  or  mistaken,4hat  he  was  actually 
loved,  and  trusted,  as  if  he  really  were,  what  his 
adoption  purported  to  make  him.  In  a  few  days  he 
BuSereJ  no  other  penalty  of  captivity  than  inability 
to  return  to  his  family.  lie  was  sufficiently  instruc- 
ted in  Indian  customs  to  know  well,  that  any  discov> 


LIFli    OF    DANIEL    BOONII.  I'j^ 

ered  purpose  or  attempt  to  escape  would  be  punished 
with  instant  death. 

Strange  capnce  of  inscrutable  instincts  and  re- 
sults of  habit!  A  circumstance,  apparently  fortui- 
tous and  accidental,  placed  hixTi  in  the  midst  of  an 
Indian  family,  the  female  owner  of  which  loved 
him  with  the  most  disinterested  tenderness,  and  jav- 
ishicd  upon  him  all  the  alTcctionate  sentiments  of  a 
mother  towards  a  son.  Had  the  die  of  his  lot  been 
cast  otherwise,  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  village 
would  have  raised  the  death  song,  and  each  indi- 
vidual would  have  been  as  fiercely  unfeeling  to  tor- 
ment him,  as  they  were  now  covetous  to  show  him 
kindness.  It  is  astonishing  to  see,  in  their  habits  of 
Ihii  sort,  no  interval  between  friendship  and  kind- 
ness, and  the  most  incjenious  and  unrelentins:  bar- 
barity.  Placed  between  two  posts,  and  his  arms 
and  feet  extended  between  them,  nearly  in  the  form 
of  a  person  suffering  crucifixion,  he  would  have  been 
burnt  to  death  at  a  slow  tire,  while  men,  women, 
and  child/en  would  have  danced  about  him,  occa- 
fionally  applying  torches  and  burning  splinters  to 
tlie  most  exquisitely  sensible  parts  of  the  frame,  pro- 
longing his  torture,  and  exulting  in  it  with  the  de- 
moniac exhilaration  of  gratified  revenge. 

This  was  the  most  common  fate  of  prisoners  of 
war  at  that  time.  Sometimes  they  fastened  the 
victim  to  a  single  stake,  built  a  fire  of  green  wood 
about  him,  and  then  raising  their  yell  of  exultation, 
marched  off  into  the  desert,  leaving  him  to  expire 
unheeded  and  alone.  At  other  times  they  killed 
tlieir  prisoners  by  amputating  their  limbs  joint  by 


130  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONK. 

joint.  Others  they  destroyed  by  pouring  on  tliem, 
from  time  to  time,  streams  of  scalding  water.  At 
other  times  they  have  been  seen  to  hang  their  vic- 
tim to  a  sapHng  tree  by  the  hands,  bending  it  down 
imtil  the  wretched  sufferer  has  seen  himself  swinging 
up  and  down  at  the  play  of  the  breeze,  his  feet  often 
within  a  foot  of  the  ground.  In  a  word,  they  seem 
to  have  exhausted  the  invention  and  ingenuity  of  all 
time  and  all  countries  in  the  horrid  art  of  inflicting 
torture. 

The  mention  of  a  circumstance  equally  extraor- 
dinary in  the  Indian  character,  may  be  recorded 
here.  If  the  sutferer  in  these  afflictions  be  an  In- 
dian, during  the  whole  of  his  agony  a  strange 
rivalry  passes  between  them  which  shall  outdo  each 
other,  they  inflicting,  and  he  in  enduring  these  tci- 
tures.  Not  a  groan,  not  a  sigh,  not  a  distortion  of 
countenance  is  allowed  to  escape  him.  He  smokes ; 
and  looks  even  cheerful.  He  occasionally  chants 
a  strain  of  his  war  song.  He  vaunts  his  exploits 
performed  in  afflicting  death  and  desolation  in  their 
villages.  He  enumerates  the  names  of  their  rela 
tives  and  friends  that  he  has  slain.  He  menaces 
them  with  the  terrible  revenge  that  his  friends  will 
inflict  by  way  of  retaliation.  He  even  derides  their 
ignorance  in  the  art  of  tormenting;  assures  thera 
that  he  had  afflicted  much  more  ingenious  torture 
upon  their  people;  and  indicates  more  excruciating 
modes  of  inflicting  pain,  and  more  sensitive  parts  of 
the  frame  to  which  to  apply  them. 

They  are  exceedingly  dexterousin  the  horrid  sur 
pfical  operation  of  taking  off  the  scalp — that  is,  a 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  131 


considerable  surflicc  of  the  hairy  integument  of  the 
crown  of  the  cranium.     Terrible  as  the  operation 
is,  there  are  not  wanting  great  numbers  of  cases  of 
persons  who  have  survived,  and  recovered  from  it. 
The  scalps  of  enemies  thus  taken,  even  when  not 
paid  for,  as  has  been  too  often  the  infamous  custom 
of  their  white  auxiliaries,  claiming  to  be  civilized, 
are  valued  as  badges  of  family  honor,  and  trophies 
of  the  bravery  of  the  warrior.     On  certain  days  and 
occasions,  young  warriors  take  a  new  name,  consti- 
tuting a  new  claim  to  honor,  according  to  the  num- 
ber of  scalps  they  have  taken,  or  the  bravery  and 
exploits  of  those  from  whom  they  were  taken.  This 
name  they  deem  a  sufficient  compensation  for  every 
fatigue  and  danger.     Another  ludicrous  superstition 
tends  to  inspire   them  with   the  most  heroic  senti- 
ments. They  believe  that  all  the  fame,  intelligence, 
and   bravery  that  appertained  to  the  enemy  they 
have  slain  is  transferred  to   them,    and  thencefor- 
ward  becomes  their  intellectual  property.     Hence, 
they  are  excited  with  the  most  earnest  appetite  to 
kill  warriors  of  distinguished  fame.     This  article  of 
Indian  faith  affords  an  apt  illustration  of  the  ordina- 
ry  influence   of  envy,  which  seems  to  inspire   the 
person  whom  it  torments  with  the  persuasion,  that 
all  the  merit  it  can  contract  from  the  envied  becomes 
its  own,  and  that  the  laurels  shorn  from  another's 
brow  will  sprout  on  its  own. 

He  witnessed  also  their  modes  of  hardening  their 
children  to  that  prodigious  power  of  unshrinking 
endurance,  of  which  such  astonishing  effects  have 
just  been  recorded.     This  may  be  fitly  termed  ihe 


12^2  LIFB    or    DANIEL    BOONE. 

Indian  system  of  gymnastics.  The  bodies  of  the 
children  of  both  sexes  are  inured  to  hardships  by 
compelling  them  to  endure  prolonged  fastings,  and  to 
bathe  in  the  coldest  water.  A  child  of  eight  years, 
fasts  half  a  day;  and  one  of  twelve,  a  whole  day 
without  food  or  drink.  The  face  is  blacked  during 
the  fast,  and  is  washed  immediately  before  eating. 
The  male  face  is  entirely  blacked;  that  of  the  female 
only  on  the  cheeks.  The  course  is  discontinued  in 
the  case  of  the  male  at  eighteen,  and  of  the  female 
at  fourteen.  At  eighteen, the  boy  is  instructed  by  liis 
parents  that  his  education  is  completed,  and  that  he 
is  old  enough  to  be  a  man.  His  face  is  then  black- 
ed for  the  last  time,  and  he  is  removed  at  the  dis- 
tance of  some  miles  from  the  village,  and  placed  in 
a  temporary  cabin.  lie  is  there  addressed  by  liis 
parent  or  guardian  to  this  purport:  '*My  son,  il 
has  pleased  the  Great  Spirit  that  you  should  live  to 
see  this  day.  We  all  have  noted  your  conduct 
since  I  first  blacked  your  face.  They  well  under- 
stand whether  you  have  strictly  followed  the  advice 
I  have  given  you,  and  they  will  conduct  themseWes 
towards  you  according  to  their  knowledge.  You 
must  remain  here  until  I,  or  some  of  your  friends, 
come  for  you." 

The  party  then  returns,  resumes  his  gun,  and 
seeming  to  forget  the  suiTerer,  goes  to  his  hunting  as 
usual,  and  the  son  or  ward  is  left  to  endure  hunger 
as  long  as  it  can  be  endured,  and  the  party  survive. 
The  hunter,  meanwhile,  has  procured  the  materials 
for  a  feast,  of  which  the  ftiends  are  invited  to  par- 
take     They  accompany  the  father  or  guardian  to 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  133 

the  unfortunate  starving  subject.  He  then  accom- 
panies them  home,  and  is  bathed  in  cold  water,  and 
his  head  shaved  after  the  Indian  fashion — all  but  a 
small  space  on  the  centre  of  the  crown.  He  i£  then 
allowed  to  take  food,  which,  however,  as  a  conse- 
crated thing,  is  presented  him  in  a  vessel  distinct 
from  that  used  by  the  rest.  After  he  has  eaten,  he 
is  presented  with  a  looking-glass,  and  a  bag  of  ver- 
milion. He  is  then  complimented  for  the  firmness 
with  which  he  has  sustained  his  fasting,  and  is  told 
that  he  is  henceforward  a  man,  and  to  be  considered 
as  such.  The  instance  is  not  known  of  a  boy  eat- 
ing or  drinking  while  under  this  interdict  of  the 
blacked  face.  They  are  deterred,  not  only  by  the 
strong  sentiments  of  Indian  honor,  but  by  a  persua- 
sion that  the  Girat  Spirit  would  severely  punish  such 
disobedience  of  parental  authority. 

The  most  honorable  mode  of  marriage,  and  that 
generally  pursued  by  the  more  distinguished  war- 
riors, is  to  assemble  the  friends  and  relatives,  and 
consult  with  them  in  regard  to  the  person  whom  it 
is  expedient  to  marry.  The  choice  being  made,  the 
relations  of  the  young  man  collect  such  presents  as 
they  deem  proper  for  the  occasion,  go  to  the  parents 
of  the  woman  selected,  make  known  the  wishes  of 
their  friend,  deposit  their  presents,  and  return  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer.  The  relations  of  the 
girl  assemble  and  consult  on  the  subject.  If  they 
confirm  the  choice,  they  also  collect  presents,  dress 
her  in  her  best  clothes,  and  take  her  to  the  friends 
of  the  bridegroom  who  made  the  application  for  the 

match,  when  it  is  understood  that   the   marriage  is 

12 


lU 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONK. 


ccoipleled.  She  herself  has  still  a  negative;  and 
if  she  disapprove  the  match,  the  presents  from  the 
friends  of  the  young  man  are  returned,  and  this  is 
considjered  as  a  refusal.  Many  of  the  more  north- 
ern nations,  as  the  Dacotas,  for  example,  have  a  cus^- 
tom,  that,  when  the  husband  deceases,  his  widow 
immediately  manifests  the  deepest  mourningr  by 
putting  off  all  her  finery,  and  dresses  herself  in 
the  coarsest  Indian  attire,  the  sackcloth  of  Indian 
lamentation.  Meanwhile  she  makes  up  a  respecta- 
ble  sized  bundle  of  her  clothes  into  the  form  of  a 
kind  of  doll-man,  which  represents  her  husband. 
With  this  she  sleeps.  To  tliis  she  converses  and 
relates  the  sorrows  of  her  desolate  heart.  It  would 
be  indecorous  for  any  warrior,  while  she  is  in  this 
predicament,  to  show  her  any  attentions  of  gallan* 
try.  She  never  puts  on  any  habiliments  but  those 
of  sadness  and  disfigurement.  The  only  comfort  she 
is  permitted  in  this  desolate  state  is,  that  her  budget- 
ted  husband  is  permitted,  when  drams  are  passing, 
to  be  considered  as  a  living  one,  and  she  is  allowed 
to  cheer  her  depressed  spirits  with  a  double  dram, 
that  of  her  budget-husband  and  iier  own.  After  a 
full  year  of  this  penance  with  the  budget-husband, 
she  is  allowed  to  exchange  it  for  a  living  one,  if  she 
can  find  him. 

When  an  Indian  party  forms  for  private  revenge 
the  object  is  accomplished  in  the  following  manner. 
The  Indian  who  seeks  revenge,  proposes  his  project 
to  obtain  it  to  some  of  his  more  intimate  assoc^ateg, 
and  requests  them  to  accompany  him.  When  the 
.  equisite  number  is  obtained,  and  the  plan  arranged 


LIFE   Of*    DANIEL    BOOiSfi.  1 35 

it  is  kept  a  profound  secret  from  all  others,  and  the 
proposer  of  the  plan  is  considered  the  leader.  The 
party  leaves  the  village  secretly,  and  in  the  night* 
When  they  halt  for  the  night,  the  eldest  encamp  in 
front,  and  the  younger  in  the  rear.  The  foremen 
hun^.  for  the  party,  and  perform  the  duty  of  spies. 
The  latter  cook,  make  the  fires,  mend  the  moccasins, 
and  perform  the  other  drudgery  of  the  expedition. 

Every  war  party  has  a  small  budget,  called  the 
war  budget,  which  contains  something  belonging  to 
each  one  of  the  party,  generally  representing  some 
animal;  for  example,  the  skin  of  a  snake,  the  tail  of  a 
buffalo,  the  skin  of  a  martin,  or  the  feathers  of  some 
extraordinary  bird.  This  budget  is  considered  a  sa- 
cred deposit,  and  is  carried  by  some  person  selected 
for  the  purpose,  who  marches  in  front,  and  leads  the 
party  against  the  enemy.  When  the  party  halts, 
the  budget  is  deposited  in  front,  and  no  person  passes 
it  without  authority.  No  one,  while  such  an  exhibi- 
tion is  pending,  is  allowed  to  lay  his  pack  on  a  log, 
converse  about  women  or  his  home.  When  they 
encamp,  the  heart  of  whatever  beast  they  have  killed 
on  the  preceding  day  is  cut  into  small  pieces  and 
burnt.  No  person  is  allowed,  while  it  is  burning,  to 
step  across  the  fire,  but  must  go  round  it,  and  always 
in  the  direction  of  the  sun. 

When  an  attack  is  to  be  made,  the  "U  ar  budget  is 
opened,  and  each  man  takes  out  his  budget,  or /o/em, 
and  attaches  it  to  that  part  of  his  body  which  has 
been  indicated  by  tradition  from  his  ancestors. 
When  the  attack  is  commenced,  the  bodv  of  the 
fighter  is  painted,  generally  black,  and  is  almost  na- 


136  LIFE   or    DANIEL    BOONE. 

ked.  Aficr  the  action,  each  party  returns  his  totrm 
to  the  commander  of  the  party,  who  carefully  wraps 
(hem  all  up,  and  delivers  them  to  the  man  \.'ho  has 
ttiken  the  tirst  prisoner  or  scalp;  and  he  is  entitled  to 
the  honor  of  leading  the  party  home  in  triumph. 
The  war  budget  is  then  hung  in  fi-ont  of  the  door  of 
the  person  who  carried  it  on  the  march  against  the 
enemy,  where  it  remains  suspended  thirty  or  forty 
days,  and  some  one  of  the  party  often  sings  and  dan- 
ces round  it. 

One  mode  of  Indian  burial  seems  to  have  pre- 
vailed, not  only  among  the  Indians  of  the  lakes  and 
of  the  Ohio  valley,  but  over  all  the  western  country. 
Some  lay  the  dead  body  on  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
make  a  crib  or  pen  over  it,  and  cover  it  with  bark. 
Others  lay  the  body  in  a  grave,  covering  it  first  with 
bark,  and  then  with  earth.  Others  make  a  coffin 
out  of  the  cloven  section  of  trees,  in  the  form,  of 
plank,  and  suspend  it  from  the  top  of  a  tree.  Noth 
ing  can  be  more  atlecting  than  to  see  a  young  mother 
hanging  the  coffin  that  contains  the  remains  of  her 
beloved  child  to  the  pendent  branches  of  the  flower- 
ing maple,  and  singing  her  lament  over  her  love  and 
hope,  as  it  waves  in  the  breeze. 


LIFE   OF    DANirk    BOONE. 


CHAPTER  IX 


137 


Boone  becomes  a  favorite  among  the  Indians— Anecdotes  relating  to  hw 
captivity— Their  mode  of  tormenting  and  burning  prisoners— Thei. 
fortitude  vmder  the  inniction  of  torture— Concerted  attack  on  Boones- 
borough — Boone  escapes. 

Boo.vE,  being  now  a  son  in  a  principal  Shawnee 
family,  presents  himself  in  a  new  light  to  our  obser- 
vation.    We  would  be  glad  to  be  able  give  a  diur- 
nal record  of  his  modes  of  deportment,  and  getting 
along.   Unhappily,  the  records  are  few  and  meagre. 
It  will  be  obvious,  that  the  necessity  for  a  more  pro- 
found  dissimulation    of  contentment,   cheerfulness, 
and  a  fee4ing  of  loving  his  home,  was  stronger  than 
ever.     It  was  a  semblance  that  must  be  daily  and 
hourly  sustained.     He  would  never  have  acquitted 
himself  successfully,   but  for  a  wonderful  versatiUty, 
which  enabled  him  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  what- 
ever parts  he  was  called  upon  to  sustain;  and  a  real 
love   for  the   hunting  and   pursuits  of  the  Indians, 
which  rendered  what  was  at  first   assumed,  with  a 
little  practice,  and  the  influence  of  habit,  easy  and 
natural.     He   soon   became   in  semblance  so  thor- 
oughly one  of  them,  and  was  able  in  all  those  points 
of   practice  which  give   them   reputation,  to   con- 
duct himself  with   so   much    sicill   and   adroitness, 
that  he  gained  the  entire  confidence  of  the  family 
into  which  he  was  adopted,  and  become  as  dear  to 
his  mother  of  adoption  as  her  own  son. 

Trials  of  Indian   strength   and    skill    are   among 


138 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 


their  most  common  amusements.  Boone  was  soon 
challenged  to  competition  in  these  trials.  In  these 
rencounters  of  loud  laughter  and  boisterous  merri- 
ment, where  all  that  was  done  seemed  to  pass  into 
oblivion  as  fast  as  it  transpired,  Boone  had  too  much 
tact  and  keen  observation  not  to  perceive  that  jeal- 
ousy, envy,  and  the  origin  of  hatred  often  lay  hid 
under  the  apparent  recklessness  of  indifference. 
He  was  not  sorry  that  some  of  the  Indians  could 
really  beat  him  in  the  race,  though  extremely  light 
of  foot;  and  that  in  the  game  of  ball,  at  which  they 
had  been  practised  all  their  lives,  he  was  decidedly 
inferior.  But  there  was  another  sport — that  of 
shooting  at  a  mark — a  new  custom  to  the  Indians 
but  recently  habituated  to  the  use  of  fire  arms;  a 
practice  which  they  had  learned  from  the  whites, 
and  they  were  excessively  jealous  of  reputation  of 
great  skill  in  this  exercise,  so  important  in  hunting 
and  war.  Boone  was  challenged  to  shoot  with  them 
at  a  mark.  It  placed  him  in  a  most  perplexing 
dilemma.  If  he  shot  his  best,  he  could  easily  and 
far  excel  their  most  practised  marksmen.  But  he 
was  aware,  that  to  display  his  superiority  would 
never  be  forgiven  him.  On  the  other  hand,  to  fall 
far  short  of  them  in  an  exercise  which  had  been 
hitherto  peculiar  to  the  whites,  would  forfeit  theit 
respect.  In  this  predicament,  he  judiciously  allowed 
himself  sometimes  to  be  beaten;  and  when  it  became 
prudent  to  put  forth  all  his  skill,  a  well  dissembled 
humility  and  carelessness  subdued  the  mortification 
and  envy  of  the  defeated  competitor. 


LIFE    or    DANIEL    BOONi:.  139 

lie  was  often  permitted  to  accompany  them  in 
their  hunting  parties;  and  here  their  habits  an'd  his 
circumstances  ahke  invoked  him  to  do  his  best. 
They  applauded  his  skill  and  success  as  a  hunter, 
with  no  mixture  of  envy  or  ill  will.  He  was  par- 
ticularly fortunate  in  conciliating  the  good  will  of 
the  Shawnee  chief.  To  attain  this  result,  Boone 
not  only  often  presented  him  with  a  share  of  his 
game,  but  adopted  the  more  winning  deportment  of 
always  affecting  to  treat  his  opinions  and  counsels 
with  deference.  The  chief,  on  his  part,  often  took 
occasion  to  speak  of  Boone  as  a  most  consummate 
proficient  in  hunting,  and  a  warrior  of  great  brave- 
ry. Not  long  after  kis  residence  among  them,  he 
had  occasion  to  witness  their  manner  of  celebrating 
their  victories,  by  being  an  eye  witness  to  one  which 
commemorated  the  successful  return  of  a  war  party 
with  some  scalps. 

Within  a  day's  march  of  the  village,  the  party 
dispatched  a  runner  with  the  joyful  intelligence  of 
their  success,  achieved  without  loss.  Every  cabin 
in  the  village  was  immediately  ordered  to  be  swept 
perfectly  clean,  with  the  religious  intention  to  ban- 
ish every  source  of  pollution  that  might  mar  the 
ceremony.  The  women,  exceedingly  fearful  of  con- 
tributing in  any  way  to  this  pollution,  commenced 
an  inveterate  sweeping,  gathering  up  the  collected 
dirt,  and  carefully  placing  it  in  a  heap  behind  the 
dour.  There  it  remained  until  the  medicine  man, 
or  priest,  who  presides  over  the  powow,  ordered 
them  to  remove  it,  and  at  the  same  time  every  sav- 
-gR  implement  and  utensil  upon  which  the  women 


140  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

had    laid    their^xhands    during  the  absence  of  the 
o.xpe'dition. 

ISiext  day  the  party  came  in  sight  of  the  village, 
painted  in  alternate  compartments  of  red  and  black, 
their  heads  enveloped  in  swan's  down,  and  the  cen- 
tre of  their  crown,  surmounted  with  long  white 
feathers.  They  advanced,  singing  their  war  song, 
and  bearing  the  scalps  on  a  verdant  branch  of 
evergreen. 

Arrived  at  the  village,  the  chief  who  had  led 
the  party  advanced  before  his  warriors  to  his 
winter  cabin,  encircling  it  in  an  order  of  march 
contrary  to  the  course  of  the  sun,  singing  the  war 
song  after  a  particular  mode,  sometimes  on  the  ten 
or  and  sometimes  on  the  bass  key,  sometimes  in 
high  and  shrill,  and  sometimes  in  deep  and  guttural 
notes.  The  waiter^  or  servant  of  the  leader,  called 
Etissu,  placed  a  couple  of  blocks  of  wood  near  the 
war-pole,  opposite  the  door  of  a  circular  cabin, 
called  the  hot-house^  in  the  centre  of  which  was  the 
council  fire.  On  these  blocks  he  rested  a  kind 
of  ark,  deemed  among  their  most  sacred  things. 
While  this  was  transacting  the  party  were  pro- 
foundly silent.  The  chief  bade  all  set  down,  and 
then  inquired  whether  his  cabin  was  prepared  and 
every  thing  unpolluted,  according  to  the  custom  of 
their  fathers?  After  the  answer,  they  rose  up  in 
concert  and  began  the  war-whoop,  walking  slowly 
round  the  war-pole  as  they  sung.  All  the  conse- 
crated things  were  then  carried,  with  no  small  show 
of  solemnity,  into  the  hot-house.  Here  they  remain- 
ed three  whole  days  and  nights,  in  separation  from 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  l4l 

tbe  rest  of  the  people,  applying  warm  abluiiona  to 
their  bodies,  and  sprinkling  themselves  with  a  de- 
coction of  snake  root.  During  a  part  of  the  time, 
the  female  relations  of  each  of  the  consecrated 
company,  after  having  bathed,  anointed,  and  drest 
themselves  in  their  finest  apparel,  stood,  in  two 
lines  opposite  the  door,  and  facing  each  other. 
This  observance  they  kept  up  through  the  night, 
uttering  a  peculiar,  monotonous  song,  in  a  shrill 
voice  for  a  minute;  then  intermitting  it  about  ten 
minutes,  and  resuming  it  again.  When  not  singing 
their  silence  was  profound. 

The  chief,  meanwhile,  at  intervals  of  about  three 
hours,  came  out  at  the  head  of  his  company,  raised 
the  war-whoop,  and  marched  round  the  red  war-pole, 
holding  in  his  right  hand  the  pine  or  cedar  boughs, 
on  which  the  scalps  were  attached,  waving  them 
backward  and  forward,  and  then  returned  again.  To 
these  ceremonies  they  conformed  without  the  slight- 
est interruption,  during  the  whole  three  days'  puri- 
fication. To  proceed  with  the  whole  details  of  the 
ceremony  to  its  close,  would  be  tedious.  We  close 
it,  only  adding,  that  a  small  twig  of  the  evergreen 
was  fixed  upon  the  roof  of  each  one  of  their  cabins, 
with  a  fragment  of  the  scalps  attached  to  it,  and 
this,  as  it  appeared,  to  appease  the  ghosts  of  their 
dead.  When  Boone  asked  them  the  meaning  of  all 
these  long  and  tedious  ceremonies,  they  answered 
him  by  a  word  which  literally  imports  "holy."  The 
leader  and  his  waiter  kept  apart  and  continued  the 
purification  three  days  longer,  and  the  ceremony 
closed. 


im  LIFE   or    DANIEL    BOONEV 

He  observed,  that  when  their  war-parties  retunved 
from  an  expedition,  and  had  arrived  near  their  vil- 
lage, thej  followed  their  file  leader,  in  w^hat  is  called 
Indian  Jile,  one  by  one,  each  a  few  yards  behind  the 
other,  to  give  the  procession  an  appearance  of  great- 
er length  and  dignity.  If  the  expedition  had  been 
unsuccessful,  and  they  had  lost  any  of  their  warriors, 
they  returned  without  ceremony  and  in  noiseless 
sadness.  But  if  they  had  been  successful,  they  fired 
their  guns  in  platoons,  yelling,  whooping,  and  insul- 
ting their  j.risoners,  if  they  had  made  any.  Near 
their  town  was  a  large  square  area,  with  a  war-pole 
in  the  centre,  expressly  prepared  for  such  purposes. 
To  this  they  fasten  their  prisc«iers.  They  then  ad- 
vance to  the  house  of  their  leader,  remaining  with- 
out, and  standing  round  his  red  war-pole,  until  they 
determine  concerning  the  fate  of  their  prisoner.  If 
any  prisoner  should  be  fortunate  enough  to  break 
from  his  pinions,  and  escape  into  the  house  of  the 
chief  medicine  man,  or  conductor  of  the  powow,  it 
is  an  inviolable  asylum,  and  by  immemorial  usage, 
the  refugee  is  saved  from  the  fire. 

Captives  far  advanced  in  life,  or  such  as  had  been 
known  to  have  shed  the  blood  of  their  tribe,  were 
sure  to  atone  for  their  decrepitude,  or  past  activity 
in  shedding  blood,  by  being  burnt  to  death.  They 
readily  know  those  Indians  who  Lave  killed  many, 
by  the  blue  marks  on  their  breasts  and  arms,  which 
indicate  the  number  they  have  slain.  These  hiero- 
glyphics are  to  them  as  significant  as  our  alphabetical 
characters.  The  ink  with  which  these  characters 
are  impressed,  is  a  sort  of  lampblack,  prepared  from 


LIFE    or    DANIEL    BOONE.  143 

the  soot  01  burning  pine,  which  they  catch  by  caus- 
ing it  to  pass  through  a  sort  of  greased  funnel.  Hav- 
ing prepared  this  lampblack,  they  tattoo  it  into  the 
skin,  by  punctures  made  with  thorns  or  the  teeth  of 
fish.  The  young  prisoners,  if  they  seem  capable  of 
activity  and  service,  and  if  they  preserve  an  intrepid 
and  unmoved  countenance,  are  generally  spared, 
unless  condemned  to  death  by  the  party,  while  un- 
dergoing the  purification  specified  above.  As  soon 
as  their  case  is  so  decided,  they  are  tied  to  the  stake, 
one  at  a  time.  A  pair  of  bear-skin  moccasins,  w^ith 
the  hair  outwards,  are  put  on  their  feet.  They  are 
stripped  naked  to  the  loins,  and  are  pinioned  firmly 
to  the  stake. 

Their  subsequent  punishment,  in  addition  to  the 
Buffering  of  slow  fire,  is  left  to  the  women.  Such  are 
the  influences  of  their  training,  that  although  the 
female  nature,  in  all  races  of  men,  is  generally  found 
to  be  more  susceptible  of  pity  than  the  male,  in  this 
case  they  appear  to  surpass  the  men  in  the  fury  of 
their  merciless  rage,  and  the  industrious  ingenuity 
of  their  torments.  Each  is  prepared  with  a  bundle 
of  long,  dry,  reed  cane,  or  other  poles,  to  which  are 
attached  splinters  of  burning  pine.  As  the  victim 
is  led  to  the  stake,  the  women  and  children  begin 
their  sufferings  by  beating  them  with  switches  and 
clubs;  and  as  they  reel  and  recoil  from  the  blows, 
these  fiendish  imps  show  their  gratification  by  unre- 
mitting peals  of  laughter;  too  happy,  if  their  tortures 
ended  here,  or  if  the  merciful  tomahawk  brought 
them  to  an  immediate  close. 

The  signal  for  a  more  terrible  infliction  being  giv 


Ill  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONk. 

en — the  arms  of  the  victim  are  pinioned,  and  he  is 
disengaged  from  the  pole,  and  a  grapevine  passed 
round  his  neck,  allowing  him  a  circle  of  about  fifteen 
yards  in  circumference,  in  which  he  can  be  made  to 
march  round  his  pole.  They  knead  tough  clay  on 
his  head  to  secure  the  cranium  from  the  effects  of  the 
blaze,  that  it  may  not  inflict  immediate  death.  Un- 
der the  excitement  of  ineffable  and  horrid  joy,  they 
whip  him  round  the  circle,  that  he  may  expose  each 
part  of  his  body  to  the  flame,  "while  the  other  part  is 
fanned  by  the  cool  air,  that  he  may  thus  undergo  the 
literal  operation  of  slow  roasting.  During  this  ab 
horrent  process,  the  children  fill  the  circle  in  convul- 
sions of  laughter;  and  the  women  begin  to  thrust 
their  burning  torches  into  his  body,  lacerating  the 
quick  of  the  flesh,  that  the  flame  may  inflict  more 
exquisite  anguish.  The  warrior,  in  these  cases, 
goaded  to  fury,  sweeps  round  the  extent  of  his  circle, 
kicking,  biting,  and  stamping  with  inconceivable  fu- 
ry. The  throng  of  women  and  children  laugh,  and 
fly  from  the  circle,  and  fresh  tormentors  fill  it  again. 
At  other  times  the  humor  takes  him  to  show  them, 
that  he  can  bear  all  this,  wdthout  a  grimace,  a  spasm, 
or  indication  of  suffering.  In  this  case,  as  we  have 
seen,  he  smokes,  derides,  menaces,  sings,  and  show^s 
his  contempt,  by  calling  them  by  the  most  reproach- 
ful of  all  epithets — old  women.  When  he  falls  in- 
sensible, they  scalp  and  dismember  him,  and  the  re- 
mainder of  his  body  is  consumed. 

We  have  omitted  many  of  these  revolting  details, 
many  of  the  atrocious  features  of  this  spectacle,  as 
witnessed  by  Boone.     While  we  read  with  indigna- 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  145 

tion  and  horror,  let  us  not  forget  that  savages  have 
not  alone  inflicted  these  detestable  cruelties.  Let 
us  not  (orget  that  the  professed  followers  of  Jesus 
Christ  have  given  examples  of  a  barbarity  equally 
unrelenting  and  horrible,  in  the  form  of  leligious 
persecution,  and  avowedly  to  glorify  God. 

During  Boone's  captivity  among  the  Shawnese, 
they  took  prisoner  a  noted  warrior  of  a  western 
tribe,  with  which  they  were  then  at  war.  He  was 
condemned  to  the  stake  with  the  usual  solemnities. 
Having  endured  the  preliminary  tortures  with  the 
most  fearless  unconcern,  he  told  them,  when  prepa- 
nng  to  commence  a  new  series,  with  a  counte- 
nance of  scorn,  he  could  teach  them  how  to  make 
an  enemy  eat  fire  to  some  purpose ;  and  begged  that 
they  would  give  him  an  opportunity,  together  with 
a  pipe  and  tobacco.  In  respectful  astonishment, 
at  an  unwonted  demonstration  of  invincible  endu- 
rance, they  granted  his  request.  He  lighted  his 
pipe,  began  to  smoke,  and  sat  down,  all  naked  as 
he  was,  upon  the  burning  torches,  which  were  bla- 
zing within  his  circle.  Every  muscle  of  his  coun- 
tenance retained  its  composure.  On  viewing  this, 
a  noted  warrior  sprang  up,  exclaiming,  that  this 
was  a  true  warrior;  that  though  his  nation  was 
treacherous,  and  he  had  caused  them  many  deaths, 
yet  such  was  their  respect  for  true  courage,  that  if 
the  fire  had  not  already  spoiled  him,  he  should  be 
spared.  That  being  now  impossible,  he  promised 
him  the  merciful  release  of  the  tomahawk.  He 
then  held  the  terrible  instrument  suspended  some 
moments  over  his  head,  during  all  which  time  he 

13 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOOI«iE.  147 

was  seen  neither  to  change  his  posture,  mo\e  a 
muscle,  or  his  countenance  to  blench.  The  toma- 
hawk fell,  and  the  impassable  warrior  ceased  to 
suffer. 

We  shall  close  these  details  of  the  Shawnese  cus- 
toms, at  the  time  when  Boone  was  prisoner  among 
them,  by  giving  his  account  of  their  ceremonies  at 
making  peace.  The  chief  warriors,  who  arrange 
the  conditions  of  the  peace  and  subsequent  friend- 
ship, first  mutually  eat  and  smoke  together.  They 
then  pledge  each  other  in  the  sacred  drink  called 
Cussena.  The  Shawnese  then  wave  large  fans  of 
eagles'  tails,  and  conclude  with  a  dance.  The 
stranger  warriors,  who  have  come  to  receive  the 
peace,  select  half  a  dozen  of  their  most  active 
young  men,  surmounting  their  crowns  with  swan's 
feathers,  and  painting  their  bodies  with  white  clay« 
They  then  place  their  file  leader  on  the  consecrated 
seat  of  what  imports  in  their  language,  the  "beloved 
cabin."  Afterwards  they  commence  singing  the 
peace  song,  with  an  air  of  great  solemnity.  They 
begin  to  dance,  first  in  a  prone  or  bowing  posture. 
They  then  raise  themselves  erect,  look  upwards,  and  * 

wave  their  eagles'  tails  towards  the  sky,  first  with  a 
slow,  and  then  with  a  quick  and  jerky  motion.  At 
the  same  time,  they  strike  their  breast  with  a  cala- 
bash fastened  to  a  stick  about  a  foot  in  length, 
which  they  hold  in  their  left  hand,  while  they  wave 
the  eagles'  feathers  with  the  right,  and  keep  time 
by  rattling  pebbles  in  a  gourd.  These  ceremo- 
nies of  peace-making  they  consider  among  their 
«nost    solemn    duties;   and  to  be  perfectly  accom- 


148  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

plished  in  all  the  notes  and  gestures  is  an  indispen- 
sable acquirement  to  a  thorough  trained  warrior. 

Boone  has  related,  at  different  times,  many  oral 
details  of  his  private  and  domestic  life,  and  his 
modes  of  getting  along  in  the  family,  of  which  he 
was  considered  a  member.  He  was  perfectly 
trained  to  their  ways,  could  prepare  their  food, 
and  perform  any  of  their  common  domestic  opera- 
tions with  the  best  of  them.  He  often  accompa- 
nied them  in  their  hunting  excursions,  wandering 
with  them  over  the  extent  of  forest  between  Chilli- 
cothe  and  lake  Erie.  These  conversations  present- 
ed curious  and  most  vivid  pictures  of  their  interior 
modes;  their  tasks  of  diurnal  labor  and  supply; 
their  long  and  severe  fasts;  their  gluttonous  indul* 
gence,  when  they  had  food;  and  their  reckless  gen- 
erosity and  hospitality,  when  they  had  any  thing  to 
bestow  to  travelling  visitants. 

To  become,  during  this  tedious  captivity,  per- 
fectly acquainted  with  their  most  interior  domestic 
and  diurnal  manners,  was  not  without  interest  for  a 
mind  constituted  like  his.  To  make  himself  master 
of  their  language,  and  to  become  familiarly  ac- 
quainted with  their  customs,  he  considered  acquisi- 
tions of  the  highest  utility  in  the  future  operations, 
in  which,  notwithstanding  his  present  duress,  he 
hoped  yet  to  be  beneficial  to  his  beloved  settlement 
of  Kentucky. 

Although  the  indulgence  with  which  he  was 
tTeated  in  the  family,  in  which  he  was  adopted, 
and  these  acquisitions,  uniting  interest  with  utility, 
tended  to  beguile  the  time  of  his  captivity,  it  cannot 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  149 

be  doubted,  that  his  sleeping  and  waking  thoughts 
were  incessantly  occupied  Vith  the  chances  of  ma- 
king his  escape.  An  expedition  was  in  contempla- 
tion, by  the  tribe,  to  the  salt  licks  on  the  Scioto, 
to  make  salt.  Boone  dissembled  indifference  whe- 
ther they  took  him  with  them,  or  left  him  behind, 
with  so  much  success,  that,  to  his  extreme  joy,  they 
determined  that  he  should  accompany  them.  The 
expedition  started  on  the  first  day  of  June,  1778, 
and  was  occupied  ten  days  in  making  salt. 

During  this  expedition,  he  was  frequently  sent 
out  to  hunt,  to  furnish  provisions  for  the  party;  but 
always  under  such  circumstances,  that,  much  as  he 
had  hoped  to  escape  on  this  expedition,  no  opportu- 
nity occurred,  which  he  thought  it  prudent  to  em- 
brace. He  returned  with  the  party  to  Chillicothe, 
having  derived  only  one  advantage  from  the  jour 
ney,  that  of  furnishing,  by  his  making  no  attempt 
to  escape,  and  by  his  apparently  cheerful  return, 
new  motives  to  convince  the  Indians,  that  he  was 
thoroughly  domesticated  among  them,  and  had 
voluntarily  renounced  his  own  race;  a  persuasion, 
which,  by  taking  as  much  apparent  interest  as  any 
of  them,  in  all  their  diurnal  movements  and  plans, 
he  constantly  labored  to  establish. 

Soon  after  his  return  he  attended  a  warrior-coun 

eil,  at  which,  in  virtue  of  being  a  member  of  one  of 

the  principal  families,  he  had  a  right  of  usage  and 

prescription,  to  be  present.     It  was  composed  of  a 

hundred  and  fifty  of  their  bravest  men,  all  painted 

and  armed  for  an  expedition,  which  he  found  "ras 

intended   against  Boonesborough.     It  instantly   tc- 

13* 


150  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

curred  to  him,  as  a  most  fortunate  circumstance, 
that  he  had  not  escaped*  on  the  expedition  to  Scio- 
to. Higher  and  more  imperious  motives,  than 
merely  personal  considerations,  now  determined 
liim  at  every  risk  to  make  the  effort  to  escape,  and 
prepare,  if  he  might  reach  it,  the  station  for  a  vigor* 
ous  defence,  by  forewarning  it  of  what  was  in  prepa 
ration  among  the  Indians. 

The  religious  ceremonies  of  the  council  and  pre- 
paration for  the  expedition  were  as  follow.     One  of 
the  principal  wai  chiefs  announced  the  intention  of 
a  party  to  commence  an  expedition  against  Boones- 
borough.     This  he  did  by  beating  their  drum,  and 
marching  with  their  war  standard  three  times  round 
the  council-house.     On  this  the  council  dissolved, 
and  a  sufficient  number  of  warriors  supplied  them- 
selves with  arms,  and  a  quantity  of  parched  corn 
flour,  as  a  supply  of  food  for  the  expedition.     All 
■who  had  volunteered  to  join  in  it,  then  adjourned 
to  their  "winter  house,"  and  drank  the  war-drink, 
a  decoction  of  bitter  herbs  and  roots,  for  three  days 
— preserving  in  other  respects  an  almost  unbroken 
fast.     This  is  considered  to  be  an  act  tending  to  pro- 
pitiate the  Great  Spirit  to  prosper  their  expedition. 
During    this    period  of  purifying  themselves,  they 
were  not  allowed  to  sit  down,  or  even  lean  upon  a 
tree,  however  fatigued,  until  after  sun-set.     If  a  bear 
or  deer  even  passed  in  sight,  custom  forbade  them 
from  killing  it  for  refreshment.     The  more  rigidly 
punctual  they  are  in  the  observance  of  these  rights, 
the  more  confidently  they  expect  success. 

While  the  young  warriors  were  under  this  proba- 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  151 

tion,  the  aged  ones,  experienced  in  the  usages  of 
their  ancestors^  watched  them  most  narrowly  to  see 
that,  from  irrehgion,  or  hunger,  or  recklessness,  they 
did  not  violate  any  of  the  transmitted  religious  rites, 
and  thus  bring  the  wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit  upon 
the  expedition.  Boone  himself,  as  a  person  natu- 
rally under  suspicion  of  having  a  swerving  of  incli- 
nation towards  the  station  to  be  assailed,  was  obhged 
to  observe  the  fast  with  the  most  rigorous  exactness* 
During  the  three  days'  process  of  purification,  he 
was  not  once  allowed  to  go  out  of  the  medicine  or 
sanctified  ground,  without  a  trusty  guard,  lest  hun- 
ger  or  indifference  to  their  laws  should  tempt  him  to 
violate  them. 

When  the  fast  and  purification  was  complete, 
they  were  compelled  to  set  forth^  prepared  or  unpre- 
pared, be  the  wea:ther  fair  or  foul.  Accordingly, 
when  the  time  arrived,  they  fired  their  guns,  whoop- 
ed, and  danced,  and  sung — and  continued  firing 
their  guns  before  them  on  the  commencement  of  their 
route.  The  leading  war-chief  marched  first,  carry- 
ing their  medicine  bag,  or  budget  of  holy  things. 
The  rest  followed  in  Indian  file,  at  intervals  of  three 
or  four  paces  behind  each  other,  now  and  then 
chiming  the  war-whoop  in  concert. 

They  advanced  in  this  order  until  they  were  out 
of  sight  and  hearing  of  the  village.  As  soon  as  they 
reached  the  deep  woods,  all  became  as  silent  as 
death.  This  silence  they  inculcate,  that  their  eara 
may  be  quick  to  catch  the  least  portent  of  danger. 

Every  one  acquainted  with  the  race,  has  remarked 
their  intense  keenness   of  vision.     Their  eyes,  for 


152  LITE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE, 

acuteness,  and  capability  of  discerning  distant  ob- 
jects, resemble  those  of  the  eagle  or  the  lynx;  and 
their  cat-Jike  tread  among  the  grass  and  leaves, 
seems  so  light  as  scarcely  to  shake  off  the  dew  drops. 
Thus  they  advance  on  their  expedition  rapidly  and 
in  profound  silence,  unless  some  one  of  the  party 
skould  relate  that  he  has  had  an  unpropitious  dream 
When  this  happens,  an  immediate  arrest  is  put  upon 
the  expedition,  and  the  whole  party  face  about,  and 
return  without  any  sense  of  shame  or  mortification. 
A  whole  party  is  thus  often  arrested  by  a  single  per- 
son ;  and  their  return  is  applauded  by  the  tribe,  as  a 
respectful  docility  to  the  divine  impulse,  as  they  deem 
it,  from  the  Great  Spirit.  These  dreams  are  univer- 
sally reverenced,  as  the  warnings  of  the  guardian 
spirits  of  the  tribe.  There  is  in  that  country  a 
sparrow,  of  an  uncommon  species,  and  not  often 
seen.  This  bird  is  called  in  the  Shawnese  dialect  by 
a  name  importing  "kind  messenger,"  which  they 
deem  always  a  true  omen,  whenever  it  appears,  of 
bad  news.  They  are  exceedingly  intimidated 
whenever  this  bird  sings  near  them;  and  were  it  to 
perch  and  sing  over  their  war-camp,  the  whole  par- 
ty would  instantly  disperse  in  consternation  and 
dismay. 

Every  chief  has  his  warrior,  Etissu,  or  waiter,  to 
attend  on  him  and  his  party.  This  confidential  per- 
sonage has  charge  of  every  thing  that  is  eaten  or 
drank  during  the  expedition.  He  parcels  it  out  by 
rules  of  rigid  abstemiousness.  Though  each  war 
rior  carries  on  his  back  all  his  travelling  conveniences, 
and  his  food  among  the  rest,  yet,  however  keen  tb» 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL   BOONE.  153 

appetite  sharpened  by  hunger,  however  burning  the 
thirst,  no  one  dares  reheve  his  hunger  or  thirst,  until 
his  rations  are  dispensed  to  him  by  the  Etissu. 

Boone  had  occasion  to  have  all  these  rites  most 
painfully  impressed  on  his  memory;  for  he  was  obli- 
ged to  conform  to  them  with  the  rest.  One  single 
thought  occupied  his  mind — to  seize  the  right  occa- 
sion to  escape. 

It  was  sometime  before  it  offered.  At  length  a 
deer  came  in  sight.  He  had  a  portion  of  his  unfin- 
ished breakfast  in  his  hand.  He  expressed  a  desire 
to  pursue  the  deer.  The  party  consented.  As  soon 
as  he  was  out  of  sight,  he  instantly  turned  his  course 
towards  Boonesborough.  Aware  that  he  should  be 
pursued  by  enemies  as  keen  on  the  scent  as  blood- 
hounds, he  put  forth  his  whole  amount  of  backwoods 
skill,  in  doubling  in  his  track,  walking  in  the  water, 
and  availing  himself  of  every  imaginable  expedient 
to  throw  them  off  his  trail.  His  unfinished  fragment 
of  his  breakfast  was  his  only  food,  except  roots  and 
berries,  during  this  escape  for  his  life,  through  un- 
known forests  and  pathless  swamps,  and  across  nu- 
merous rivers,  spreading  in  an  extent  of  more  than 
two  hundred  miles.  Every  forest  sound  must  hare 
struck  his  ear,  as  a  harbinger  of  the  approaching 
Indians. 

No  spirit  but  such  an  one  as  his,  could  have  sus- 
tained the  apprehension  and  fatigue.  No  mind  but 
one  guided  by  the  intuition  of  instinctive  sagacity, 
could  have  so  enabled  him  to  conceal  his  trail,  and 
find  his  way.  But  he  evaded  their  pursuit.  He 
discovered   his  way.     He  found  in  roots,  in  barks, 


154  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

and  berries,  together  with  what  a  single  shot  of  his 
rifle  afforded,  wherewith  to  sustain  the  cravings  of 
nature.  TraveUing  night  and  daj,  in  an  incredible 
short  space  of  time  he  was  in  the  arms  of  his  friends 
at  Boonesborough,  experiencing  a  reception,  after 
such  a  long  and  hopeless  absence,  as  words  would  in 
Fain  attempt  to  portray. 


LIFE  OF    DANIEL    BOTiNE.  155 


CHAPTER  X. 

Six  hundred  Indians  attack  Boonesborough — Boone  and  Captain 
Smith  go  out  to  treat  with  the  enemy  under  a  flag  of  truce,  and 
are  extricated  from  a  treacherous  attempt  to  detain  them  as  pri- 
soners— Defence  of  the  fort — The  Indians  defeated — Boone  goes 
to  JN'orth  Carolina  to  bring  back  his  family. 

It  will  naturally  be  supposed  that  foes  less  warj 
and  intelligent,  than  those  from  whom  Boone  had 
escaped,  after  they  had  abandoned  the  hope  of 
recapturing  him,  would  calculate  to  find  Boonesbo- 
rough in  readiness  for  their  reception. 

Boonesborough,  though  the  most  populous  and 
important  station  in  Kentucky,  had  been  left  by  the 
abstraction  of  so  many  of  the  select  inhabitants  in 
the  captivity  of  the  Blue  Licks,  by  the  absence  of 
Colonel  Clarke  in  Illinois,  and  by  the  actual  decay 
of  the  pickets,  almost  defenceless.  Not  long  before 
the  return  of  Boone,  this  important  post  had  been 
put  under  the  care  of  Major  Smith,  an  active  and 
intelligent  officer.  lie  repaired  thither,  and  put 
the  station,  with  great  labor  and  fatigue,  in  a  com- 
petent &tate  of  defence.  Learning  from  the  re 
turn  of  some  of  the  prisoners,  captured  at  the 
Blue  Licks,  the  great  blow  which  the  Shawnese 
meditated  against  this  station,  he  deemed  it  advisa- 
ble to  anticipate  their  movements,  and  to  fit  out  an 
expedition  to  meet  them  on  their  own  ground. — 
Leaving  twenty  young  men  to  defend  the  place,  he 


156  LITE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

marched  with  thirty  chosen  men  towards  the  Shaw 
nese  towns. 

At  the  Blue  Licks,  a  place  of  evil  omen  to  Kei# 
tucky,  eleven  of  the  men,  anxious  for  the  safety  of 
the  families  they  had  left  behind,  and  deeming  theii 
force  too  small  for  the  object  contemplated,  aban 
doned  the  enterprise  and  retreated  to  the  fort.  The 
remaining  nineteen,  not  discouraged  by  the  deser 
tion  of  their  companions,  heroically  persevered 
They  crossed  the  Ohio  to  the  present  site  of  Cincin- 
nati, on  rafts.  They  then  painted  their  faces,  and 
in  other  respects  assumed  the  guise  and  garb  of 
savages,  and  marched  upon  the  Indian  towns. 

'VYhen  arrived  within  twenty  miles  of  these  towns 
they  met  the  force  with  which  Boone  had  set  out. 
Discouraged  by  his  escape,  the  original  party  had 
returned,  had  been  rejoined  by  a  considerable  rein- 
forcement, the  whole  amounting  to  two  hundred  and 
fifty  men  on  horse-back,  and  were  again  on  their 
march  against  Boonesborough.  Fortunately,  Major 
Smith  and  his  small  party  discovered  this  formidable 
body  before  they  were  themselves  observed.  But 
instead  of  endeavoring  to  make  good  their  retreat 
from  an  enemy  so  superior  in  numbers,  and  mounted 
upon  horses,  they  fired  upon  them  and  killed  two  of 
their  number.  An  assault  so  unexpected  alarmed 
the  Indians;  and  without  any  effort  to  ascertain 
the  number  of  their  assailants,  they  commenced 
a  precipitate  retreat.  If  these  rash  adventurei'S 
had  stopped  here,  they  might  have  escaped  unmo 
lested.  But,  flushed  with  this  partial  success,  they 
rushed  upon  the  retreating  foe,  and  repeated  theii 


LIFE   OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  157 

fire.  The  savages,  restored  to  self-possession,  halted 
in  their  turn,  deliberated  a  moment,  and  turned  upon 
the  assailants.  Major  Smith,  perceiving  the  impru- 
dence of  having  thus  put  the  enemy  at  bay,  and 
the  certainty  of  the  destruction  ef  his  little  force, 
if  the  Indians  should  perceive  its  weakness,  ordered 
a  retreat  in  time;  and  being  considerably  in  ad- 
vance of  the  foe,  succeeded  in  effecting  it  without 
loss.  By  a  rapid  march  during  the  night,  in  the 
course  of  the  next  morning  they  reached  Boones- 
borough  in  safety. 

Scarcely  an  hour  after  the  last  of  their  number 
had  entered  the  fort,  a  body  of  six  hundred  Indians, 
in  three  divisions  of  two  hundred  each,  appeared 
with  standards  and  much  show  of  warlike  array, 
and  took  their  station  opposite  the  fort.  The  whole 
was  commanded  by  a  Frenchman  named  Duquesne. 
They  immediately  sent  a  flag  requesting  the  sur- 
render of  the  place,  in  the  name  of  the  king  of 
Great  Britain.  A  council  was  held,  and  contrary 
to  the  opinion  of  Major  Smith,  it  was  decided  to 
pay  no  attention  to  the  proposal.  They  repeated 
their  flag  of  truce,  stating  that  they  had  letters  from 
the  commander  at  Detroit  to  Colonel  Boone.  On 
this,  it  was  resolved  that  Colonel  Boone  and  Major 
Smith  should  venture  out,  and  hear  what  they  had 
to  propose. 

Fifty  yards  from  the  fort  three  chiefs  met  them 
with  great  parade,  and  conducted  them  to  the  spot 
designated  for  their  reception,  and  spread  a  panther's 
fikin  for  their  seat,    while  two  other  Indians  held 

branches  over  their  heads  to  protect  them  from  the 

14 


158  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

fervor  of  the  sun.  The  chiefs  then  commenced  an 
address  five  minutes  in  length,  abounding  in  friendly 
assurances,  and  the  avowal  of  kind  sentiments.  A 
part  of  the  advanced  warriors  grounded  their  arms, 
and  came"  forward  to  shake  hands  with  them. 

The  letter  from  Governor  Hamilton  of  Detroit  was 
then  produced,  and  read.  It  proposed  the  most  fa- 
vorable terms  of  surrender,  provided  the  garrison 
would  repair  to  Detroit.  Major  Smith  assured  them 
that  the  proposition  seemed  a  kind  one;  but  that  if 
was  impossible,  in  their  circumstances,  to  remove 
their  women  and  children  to  Detroit.  The  reply 
was  that  this  difficulty  should  be  removed,  for  that 
they  had  brought  forty  horses  with  them,  expressly 
prepared  for  such  a  contingency. 

In  a  long  and  apparently  amicable  interview,  du- 
ring which  the  Indians  smoked  with  them,  and 
vaunted  their  abstinence  in  not  having  killed  the 
swine  and  cattle  of  the  settlement,  Boone  and  Smith 
arose  to  return  to  the  fort,  and  make  known  these 
proposals,  and  to  deliberate  upon  their  decision. 
Twenty  Indians  accompanied  their  return  as  far  as 
the  limits  stipulated  between  the  parties  allowed. 
The  negotiators  having  returned,  and  satisfied  the 
garrison  that  the  Indians  had  no  cannon,  advised 
to  listen  to  no  terms,  but  to  defend  the  fort  to  the 
last  extremity.  The  inmates  of  the  station  resolved 
to  follow  this  counsel. 

In  a  short  time  the  Indians  sent  in  another  flag, 
with  a  view,  as  they  stated,  to  ascertain  the  result 
of  the  deliberations  of  the  fort.  Word  was  sent 
them,  that  if  they  wished  to  settle  a  treaty,  a  place 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  159 

of  conference  must  be  assigned  intermediate  be- 
tween their  camp  and  the  fort.  The  Indians  con- 
sented to  this  stipulation,  and  deputed  thirty  chiefs 
to  arrange  the  articles,  though  such  appeared  to  be 
their  distrust,  that  they  could  not  be  induced  to 
come  nearer  than  eighty  yards  from  the  fort.  Smith 
and  Boone  with  four  others  were  deputed  to  confer 
with  them.  After  a  close  conference  of  two  days, 
an  arrangement  was  agreed  upon,  which  contained 
a  stipulation,  that  neither  party  should  cross  the 
Ohio,  until  after  the  terms  had  been  decided  upon 
by  the  respective  authorities  on  either  side.  The 
wary  heads  of  this  negotiation  considered  these 
terms  of  the  Indians  as  mere  lures  to  beguile  con- 
fidence. 

When  the  treaty  was  at  last  ready  for  signature, 
an  aged  chief,  who  had  seemed  to  regulate  all  the 
proceedings,  remarked  that  he  must  first  go  to  his 
people,  and  that  he  would  immediately  return,  and 
sign  the  instrument.  He  was  observed  to  step  aside 
in  conference  v/ith  some  young  warriors.  On  his 
return  the  negotiators  from  the  garrison  asked  the 
chief  why  he  had  brought  young  men  in  place  of 
those  who  had  just  been  assisting  at  the  council? 
His  answer  was  prompt  and  ingenious.  It  was,  that 
he  wished  to  gratify  his  young  warriors,  who  desired 
to  become  acquainted  with  the  ways  of  the  whites. 
It  was  then  proposed,  according  to  the  custom  of 
both  races,  that  the  parties  should  shake  hands.  As 
the  two  chief  negotiators.  Smith  and  Boone,  arose 
to  depart,  they  were  both  seized  from  behind. 

Suspicious  of  treachery,  they  had  posted  twenty- 


160  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

five  men  in  a  bastion,  with  orders  to  fire  upon  the 
council,  as  soon  as  they  should  see  any  marks  of 
treachery  or  violence.  The  instant  the  negotiators 
were  seized,  the  whole  besieging  force  fired  upon 
them,  and  the  fire  was  as  promptly  returned  by  the 
men  in  the  bastion.  The  powerful  savages  who 
had  grasped  Boone  and  Smith,  attempted  to  drag 
them  off  as  prisoners.  The  one  who  held  Smith 
was  compelled  to  release  his  grasp  by  being  shot 
dead.  Colonel  Boone  was  slightly  wounded.  A 
second  tomahawk,  by  which  his  skull  would  have 
been  cleft  asunder,  he  evaded,  and  it  partially  fell 
on  Major  Smith;  but  being  in  a  measure  spent,  it 
did  not  inflict  a  dangerous  wound.  The  negotiators 
escaped  to  the  fort  without  receiving  any  other  in- 
jury. The  almost  providential  escape  of  Boone  and 
Smith  can  only  be  accounted  for  by  the  confusion 
into  which  the  Indians  were  thrown,  as  soon  as  these 
men  were  seized,  and  by  the  prompt  fire  of  the  men 
concealed  in  the  bastion.  Added  to  this,  the  two 
Indians  who  seized  them  were  both  shot  dead,  by 
marksmen  who  knew  how  to  kill  the  Indians,  and 
at  the  same  time  spare  the  whites,  in  whose  grasp 
they  were  held. 

The  firing  on  both  sides  now  commenced  in  ear- 
nest, and  was  kept  up  without  intermission  from 
morning  dawn  until  dark.  The  garrison,  at  once 
exasperated  and  cheered  by  the  meditated  treachery 
of  the  negotiation  and  its  result,  derided  the  furious 
Indians,  and  thanked  them  for  the  stratagem  of  the 
negotiation,  which  had  given  them  time  to  prepare 
the  fort  for  their  reception.     Goaded  to  desperation 


LIFE  OP   DANIEL   BOONE.  161 

by  these  taunts,  and  by  Duquesne,  who  harangued 
them  to  the  onset,  they  often  rushed  up  to  the  fort, 
cis  if  they  purposed  to  storm  it.  Dropping  dead  un- 
der the  cool  and  dehberate  aim  of  the  besieged,  the 
remainder  of  the  forlorn  hope,  raising  a  yell  of  fury 
and  despair,  fell  back.  Other  infuriated  bands  took 
their  place;  and  these  scenes  were  often  repeated, 
invariably  with  the  same  success,  until  both  parties 
were  incapable  of  taking  aim  on  account  of  the  dark- 
ness. 

They  then  procured  a  quantity  of  combustible 
matter,  set  fire  to  it,  and  approached  under  covert 
of  the  darkness,  so  near  the  palisades  as  to  throw  the 
burning  materials  into  the  fort.  But  the  inmates 
had  availed  themselves  of  the  two  doys'  consulta- 
tion, granted  them  by  the  treacherous  foe,  to  procure 
an  ample  supply  of  water;  and  they  had  the  means 
of  extinguishing  the  burning  faggots  as  they  fell. 

Finding  their  efforts  to  fire  the  fort  ineffectual, 
they  returned  again  to  their  arms,  and  continued  to 
fire  upon  the  station  for  some  days.  Taught  a  les- 
son of  prudence,  however,  by  what  had  already  be- 
fallen them,  they  kept  at  such  a  cautious  distance, 
as  that  their  fire  took  little  effect.  A  project  to  gain 
the  place,  more  wisely  conceived,  and  promising 
better  success,  was  happily  discovered  by  Colonel 
Boone.  The  walls  of  the  fort  were  distant  sixty 
yards  from  the  Kentucky  river.  The  bosom  of  the 
current  was  easily  discernible  by  the  people  within. 
Boone  discovered  in  the  morning  that  the  stream 
near  the  shore  was  extremely  turbid.     He  immedi 

ately  divined  the  cause. 

11* 


i62 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 


The  Indians  had  commenced  a  trench  at  the  wa- 
ter level  of  the  river  bank,  mining  upwards  towards 
the  station,  and  intending  to  reach  the  interior  bj  a 
passage  under  the  wall.  He  took  measures  to  ren- 
der their  project  ineffectual,  bj  ordering  a  trench  to 
be  cut  inside  the  fort,  across  the  line  of  their  subter- 
raneous passage.  They  were  probably  apprised  of 
the  countermine  that  was  digging  within,  by  the 
quantity  of  earth  thrown  over  the  wall.  But,  stim- 
ulated by  the  encouragement  of  their  French  engi- 
neer, they  continued  to  advance  their  mine  towards 
the  wall,  until,  from  the  friability  of  the  soil  through 
which  it  passed,  it  fell  in,  and  all  their  labor  was  lost. 
With  a  perseverance  that  in  a  good  cause  would 
have  done  them  honor,  in  no  wise  discouraged  by 
this  failure  to  intermit  their  exertions,  they  returned 
again  to  their  fire  arms,  and  kept  up  a  furious  and  in* 
cessant  firing  for  some  days,  but  producing  no  more 
impression  upon  the  station  than  before. 

During  the  siege,  which  lasted  eight  days,  they 
proposed  frequent  parleys,  requesting  the  surrender 
of  the  place,  and  professing  to  treat  the  garrison 
with  the  utmost  kindness.  They  were  answered, 
that  they  must  deem  the  garrison  to  be  still  more 
brutally  fools  than  themselves,  to  expect  that  they 
would  place  any  confidence  in  the  proposals  of 
wretches  who  had  already  manifested  such  base  and 
stupid  treachery.  They  were  bidden  to  fire  on,  for 
that  their  waste  of  powder  and  lead  gave  the  garrison 
little  uneasiness,  and  were  assured  that  they  could 
not  hope  the  surrender  of  the  place,  while  there  was 
a  man  left  within  it.     On  the  morning  of  the  niuth 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    6OONE.  16S 

day  from  the  commencement  of  the  siege,  after  hav 
ing,  as  usual,  wreaked  their  disappointed  fury  upon 
the  cattle  and  swine,  they  decamped,  and  commen 
ced  a  retreat. 

No  Indian  expedition  against  the  whites  had  been 
known  to  have  had  such  a  disastrous  issue  for  them. 
During  the  siege,  their  loss  was  estimated  by  the  gar- 
rison at  two  hundred  killed,  beside  a  great  number 
wounded.  The  garrison,  on  the  contrary,  protected 
by  the  palisades,  behind  which  they  could  fire  in 
safety,  and  deliberately  prostrate  every  foe  that  ex- 
posed himself  near  enough  to  become  a  mark,  lost 
but  two  killed,  and  had  six  wounded. 

After  the  siege,  the  people  of  the  fort,  to  whom 
lead  was  a  great  object,  began  to  collect  the  balls 
that  the  Indians  had  fired  upon  them.  They  gath- 
ered in  the  logs  of  the  fort,  beside  those  that  had  fal- 
len to  the  ground,  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds. 
The  failure  of  this  desperate  attempt,  with  such  a 
powerful  force,  seems  to  have  discouraged  the  Indi- 
ans and  their  Canadian  allies  from  making  any  fur- 
ther efibrt  against  Boonesborough.  In  the  autumn 
of  this  season.  Colonel  Boone  returned  to  North 
Carolina  to  visit  his  wife  and  family. 

When  he  was  taken  at  the  Blue  Licks,  with  his 
associates,  who  had  returned,  while  he  was  left  be- 
hind in  a  long  captivity,  during  which  no  more  news 
of  him  transpired  than  as  if  he  were  actually  among 
the  dead,  the  people  of  the  garrison  naturally  con- 
cluded that  he  had  been  killed.  His  wife  and  family 
numbered  him  as  among  the  dead;  and  often  had 
they  shuddered  on  the  bare  recurrence  of  some  one 


164  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

to  the  probability  of  the  tortures  he  had  under- 
gone. Deeply  attached  to  him,  and  inconsolable, 
they  could  no  longer  endure  a  residence  which  so 
painfully  reminded  them  of  their  loss.  As  soon  as 
they  had  settled  their  minds  to  the  conviction  that 
their  head  would  return  to  them  no  more,  they  re- 
solved to  leave  these  forests  that  had  been  so  fatal 
to  them,  and  return  to  the  banks  of  the  Yadkin, 
where  were  all  their  surviving  connections.  A  fam- 
ily so  respectable  and  dear  to  the  settlement  would 
not  be  likely  to  leave  without  having  to  overcome 
many  tender  and  pressing  solicitations  to  remain,  and 
many  promises  that  if  they  would,  their  temporal 
wants  should  be  provided  for. 

To  all  this  Mrs.  Boone  could  only  object,  that 
Kentucky  had  indeed  been  to  her,  as  its  name  im- 
ported, a  dark  and  Bloody  Ground,  She  had  lost 
her  eldest  son  by  the  savage  fire  before  they  had 
reached  the  country.  Her  daughter  had  been 
made  a  captive,  and  had  experienced  a  forbearance 
from  the  Indians  to  her  inexplicable.  She  would 
have  been  carried  away  to  the  savage  towns,  and 
there  would  have  been  forcibly  married  to  some 
warrior,  but  for  the  perilous  attempt,  ana  improba- 
ble success  of  her  father  in  recapturing  her.  Now 
the  father  himself,  her  affectionate  husband,  and 
the  heroic  defender  of  the  family,  had  fallen  a  sac- 
rifice, probably  in  the  endurance  of  tortures  on 
which  the  imagination  dared  not  to  dwell.  Under 
the  influence  of  griefs  like  these,  next  to  the  un- 
failing resource  of  religion,  the  heart  naturally  turns 
to  the  sympathy  and  society  of  those  bound  to  it  by 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  165 

the  ties  of  nature  and  affinity.  They  returned  to 
their  friends  in  North  CaroUna. 

It  was  nearly  five  years  since  this  now  desolate 
family  had  started  in  company  with  the  first  emi- 
grating party  of  families,  in  high  hopes  and  spirits, 
for  Kentucky.  We  have  narrated  their  disastrous 
rencounter  with  the  Indians  in  Powell's  valley,  and 
their  desponding  return  to  CUnch  river.  We  have 
seen  their  subsequent  return  to  Boonesborough,  on 
Kentucky  river.  Tidings  of  the  party  thus  far  had 
reached  the  relatives  of  Mrs.  Boone's  family  in 
North  Carolina;  but  no  news  from  the  country  west 
of  the  Alleghanies  had  subsequently  reached  them. 
All  was  uncertain  conjecture,  whether  they  still 
lived,  or  had  perished  by  famine,  wild  beasts,  or  the 
Indians. 

At  the  close  of  the  summer  of  1778,  the  settle- 
ment on  the  Yadkin  saw  a  company  on  pack  horses 
approaching  in  the  direction  from  the  western  wil- 
derness. They  had  often  seen  parties  of  emigrants 
departing  in  that  direction,  but  it  was  a  novel  spec- 
tacle to  see  one  return  from  that  quarter.  At  the 
nead  of  that  company  was  a  blooming  youth,  scarce- 
y  yet  arrived  at  the  age  of  manhood.  It  was  the 
widest  surviving  son  of  Daniel  Boone.  Next  behind 
oim  was  a  matronly  woman,  in  weeds,  and  with  a 
countenance  of  deep  dejection.  It  was  Mrs.  Boone. 
Still  behind  was  the  daughter  who  had  been  a  cap- 
tive with  the  Indians.  The  remaining  children 
were  too  young  to  feel  deeply.  The  whole  group 
wets  respectable  in  appearance,  though  clad  in  skins, 
and  the  primitive  habiliments  of  the  wilderness.     It 


166  LIFE    OF    DAMEL    BOONE. 

miglit  almost  have  been  mistaken  for  a  funeral  pro^ 
cession.  It  stopped  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Bryan,  the 
father  of  jMrs.  Boone. 

The  people  of  the  settlement  were  not  long  in 
collecting  to  hear  news  from  the  west,  and  learn  the 
fate  of  their  former  favorite,  Boone,  and  his  family. 
As  Mrs.  Boone,  in  simple  and  backwood's  phrase, 
related  the  thrilling  story  of  their  adventures,  which 
needed  no  trick  of  venal  eloquence  to  convey  it  to 
the  heart,  an  abundant  tribute  of  tears  from  the 
hearers  convinced  the  bereaved  narrator  that  true 
sympathy  is  natural  to  the  human  heart.  As  they 
shuddered  at  the  dark  character  of  many  of  the  in- 
cidents related,  it  was  an  hour  of  triumph,  notwith- 
standing their  pity,  for  those  wiser  ones,  who  took 
care,  in  an  under  tone,  to  whisper  that  it  might  be 
remembered  that  they  had  predicted  all  that  had 
happened. 


LTPE  OP   DANIEL   BOONE.  167 


CHAPTER    XI 

m 

k  sketch  of  the  character  and  adventures  of  several  othei  picnecr»— 
Harrod,  Kenton,  Logan,  Ray,  McAifee,  and  others. 

Colonel  Boone  having  seen  the  formidable  in- 
vasion of  Boonesborough  successfully  repelled,  and 
wi^h  such  a  loss  as  would  not  be  likely  to  tempt 
the  Indians  to  repeat  such  assaults — and  having  thus 
disengaged  his  mind  from  pubHc  duties,  resigned  it 
to  the  influence  of  domestic  sympathies.  The  affec- 
tionate husband  and  father,  concealing  the  tender- 
est  heart  under  a  sun-burnt  and  care-worn  visage, 
was  soon  seen  crossing  the  Alleghanies  in  pursuit  of 
his  wife  and  children.  The  bright  star  of  his  morn- 
ing promise  had  been  long  under  eclipse;  for  this 
journey  was  one  of  continued  difliculties,  vexations, 
and  dangers — so  like  many  of  his  sufferings  already 
recounted,  that  we  pass  them  by,  fearing  the  effect 
of  incidents  of  so  much  monotony  upon  the  reader's 
patience.  The  frame  and  spirit  of  the  western  ad- 
venturer were  of  iron.  He  surmounted  all,  and 
was  once  more  in  the  bosom  of  his  family  on  the 
Yadkin,  who,  in  the  language  of  the  Bible,  hailed 
him  as  one  who  had  been  dead  and  was  alive  again; 
who  had  been  lost  and  was  found* 

Many  incidents  of  moment  and  interest  in  the 
early  annals  of  Kentucky  occurred  during  this  re- 
union of  Boone  with  his  family.  As  his  name  is 
forever  identified  with  these  annals,  we  hope  it  will 
not  be  deemed  altogether  an  episode  if  we  introduce 


168  LIFE   OP   DANIEL   BOONE. 

here  a  brief  chronicle  of  those  incidents — thougn 
not  directly  associated  with  the  subject  of  our  me- 
moir. In  presenting  those  incidents,  we  shall  be 
naturally  led  to  spea^of  some  of  the  other  patii- 
archs  of  Kentucky — all  Boones  in  their  way — all 
strangely  endowed  with  that  peculiar  character 
which  fitted  them  for  the  time,  place,  and  achieve- 
ments. We  thus  discover  the  foresight  of  Provi- 
dence in  the  arrangement  of  means  to  ends.  This 
is  no  where  seen  more  conspicuously  than  in  the 
characters  of  the  founders  of  states  and  institutions. 

During  the  absence  of  Colonel  Boone,  there  was 
a  general  disposition  in  Kentucky  to  retaUate  upon 
the  Shawnese  some  of  the  injuries  and  losses  which 
they  had  so  often  inflicted  upon  the  infant  settle- 
ment. Colonel  Bowman,  with  a  force  of  a  hundred 
and  sixty  men,  was  selected  to  command  the  expedi- 
tion; and  it  was  destined  against  Old  Chillicothe — 
the  den  where  the  red  northern  savages  had  so  long 
concentrated  their  expeditions  against  the  settle- 
ments south  of  the  Ohio. 

The  force  marched  in  the  month  of  July,  1779, 
and  reached  its  destination  undiscovered  by  the  Indi- 
ans. A  contest  commenced  with  the  Indians  at  ear- 
ly dawn,  which  lasted  until  ten  in  the  mornings 
But,  although  Colonel  Bowman's  force  sustained 
itself  with  great  gallantry,  the  numbers  and  conceal- 
ment of  the  enemy  precluded  the  chance  of  a  victo- 
ry. He  retreated,  with  an  inconsiderable  loss,  a 
distance  of  thirty  miles.  The  Indians,  collecting  all 
their  forces,  pursued  and  overtook  him.  Another 
engagement  of  two  hours  ensued,  more  to  the  dis- 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  169 

advantage  of  the  Kentuckians  than  the  former. 
Colonel  Ilarrod  proposed  to  mount  a  number  of 
horse,  and  make  a  charge  upon  the  Indians,  who 
continued  the  fight  with  great  fury.  This  apparently 
desperate  measure  was  followed  by  the  happiest  re- 
sults. The  Indian  front  was  broken,  and  their  force 
thrown  into  irreparable  confusion.  Colonel  Bow- 
man, having  sustained  a  loss  of  nine  killed  and  one 
wounded,  afterwards  continued  an  unmolested 
retreat. 

In  June  of  the  next  year,  1780,  six  hundred  Indi- 
ans and  Canadians,  commanded  by  Colonel  Bird,  a 
British  officer,  attacked  Riddle's  and  Martin's  sta- 
tions, at  the  forks  of  the  Licking,  with  six  pieces  of 
cannon,  The}'^  conducted  this  expedition  with  so 
much  secrecy,  that  the  first  intimation  of  it  which 
the  unsuspecting  inhabitants  had,  was  being  fired 
upon.  Unprepared  to  resist  so  formidable  a  force, 
provided  n\oreover  with  cannon,  against  which  their 
palisade  walls  would  not  stand,  they  wer«  obliged  to 
surrender  at  discretion.  Tlie  savages  immediately 
prostrated  one  man  and  two  women  with  the  toma- 
hawk. All  the  other  prisoners,  many  of  whom  were 
sick,  were  loaded  with  baggage  and  forced  to  accomr 
pany  their  return  march  to  the  Indian  towns.  Who- 
ever, whether  male  or  female,  infant  or  aged,  became 
unable,  from  sickness  or  exhaustion,  to  proceed,  was 
immediately  dispatched  with  the  tomahawk. 

The  inhabitants,  exasperated  by  the  recital  of  cru- 
elties to  the  children  and  women,  too  horrible  to  be 
named,  put  themselves  under  the  standard  of  the 

intrepid  and  successful  General   Clarke,  who  con»- 

15 


170  LIFE   OF    DAJJIEL   BOONE. 

manded  a  regiment  of  United  States'  troops  at  the 
falls  of  Ohio.  He  was  joined  by  a  number  of  vol- 
unteers from  the  country,  and  they  marched  against 
Pickaway,  one  of  the  principal  towns  of  the  Shaw- 
nese,  on  the  Great  Miami.  He  conducted  this  ex- 
pedition with  his  accustomed  good  fortune.  He 
burnt  their  town  to  ashes.  Beside  the  dead,  which, 
according  to  their  custom,  the  Indians  carried  off^ 
seventeen  bodies  were  left  behind.  The  loss  of 
General  Clarke  was  seventeen  killed. 

We  here  present  brief  outlines  of  some  of  the 
other  more  prominent  western  pioneers,  the  kindred 
fpirits,  the  Boones  of  Kentucky.  High  spirited 
intelligent,  intrepid  as  they  were,  they  can  nevei 
supplant  the  reckless  hero  of  Kentucky  and  Mis- 
fouri  in  our  thoughts.  It  is  true,  these  men  deserve 
to  have  their  memories  perpetuated  in  monumental 
brass,  and  the  more  enduring  page  of  history.  But 
there  is  a  sad  interest  attached  to  the  memory  of 
Daniel  Boone,  which  can  never  belong,  in  an  equal 
degree,  to  theirs.  They  foresaw  what  this  beautiful 
country  would  become  in  the  hands  of  its  new  pos- 
sessors. Extending  their  thoughts  beyond  the  ken 
of  a  hunter's  calculations,  they  anticipated  the  con- 
sequences of  huts  and  bounds,  officers  of  registry  ard 
record,  and  courts  of  justice.  In  due  time,  they  se- 
cured a  fair  and  adequate  reversion  in  the  soil  which 
they  had  planted  and  so  nobly  defended.  Hence, 
their  posterity,  with  the  inheritance  of  their  name 
and  renown,  enter  into  the  heritage  of  their  posses- 
sions, and  find  an  honorable  and  an  abundant  resi- 
dence  in  the  country  which   their  fathers  settled. 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  171 

Boone,  on  the  contrary,  was  too  simple-nuuded,  too 
little  given  to  prospective  calculations,  and  his  heart 
in  too  much  what  was  passing  under  his  eye,  to  make 
this  thrifty  forecast.  In  age,  in  penury,  landless, 
and  without  a  home,  he  is  seen  leaving  Kentucky, 
then  an  opulent  and  flourishing  country,  for  a  new 
wilderness  and  new  scenes  of  adventure. 

Among  the  names  of  the  conspicuous  backwoods-^ 
men  who  settled  the  west,  we  cannot  fail  to  recog- 
nize that  of  James  Harrod.  He  was  from  the  banks 
of  the  Monongahela,  and  among  the  earliest  immi- 
grants to  the  "Bloody  Ground."  He  descended  the 
Great  Kenhawa,  and  returned  to  Pennsylvania  in 
1774.  He  made  himself  conspicuous  with  a  party 
of  his  friends  at  the  famous  contest  with  the  Indiana 
at  the  "Point."  Next  year  he  returned  to  Kentucky 
with  a  party  of  immigrants,  fixing  himself  at  one  of 
the  earliest  settlements  in  the  country,  which,  in 
honor  of  him,  was  called  Harrodsburgh. 

Nature  had  moulded  him  of  a  form  and  tempera- 
ment to  look  the  formidable  red  man  in  the  face.  He 
was  six  feet,  muscular,  broad  chested,  of  a  firm  and 
animated  countenance,  keen  and  piercing  eyes,  and 
sparing  of  speech.  He  gained  himself  an  imperish- 
able name  in  the  annals  of  Kentucky,  under  the  ex- 
treme disadvantage  of  not  knowing  how  to  read  or 
write !  Obliging  and  benevolent  to  his  neighbors, 
he  was  brave  and  active  in  their  defence.  A  suc- 
cessful, because  a  persevering  and  intelligent  hunter, 
he  was  liberal  to  profuseness  in  the  distribution  of  the 
spoils.  Vigilant  and  unerring  with  his  rifle,  it  wits 
at  one  time  directed  against  the  abundant  game  for 


172  LIFE   OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

the  sake  of  his  friends  rather  than  himself;  and  at 
others,  against  the  enemies  of  his  country.  Guided 
hy  the  inexplicable  instinct  of  forest  skill,  he  could 
conduct  the  wanderer  in  the  woods  from  point  to 
point  through  the  wilderness,  as  the  needle  guides 
the  mariner  upon  the  ocean.  So  endowed,  others 
equally  illiterate,  and  less  gifted,  naturally,  and  from 
.  instinct,  arranged  themselves  under  his  banner,  and 
fearlessly  followed  such  a  leader. 

If  it  was  reported,  that  a  family,  recentl}'  arrived 
in  the  country,  and  not  yet  acquainted  with  the 
backwood's  modes  of  supply,  was  in  want  of  food, 
Ilarrod  was  seen  at  the  cabin  door,  offering  the  body 
of  a  deer  or  buffalo,  which  he  had  just  killed.  The 
commencing  farmer,  who  had  lost  his  oxen,  or  plough 
horse,  in  the  range,  and  unused  to  the  vocation  of 
hunting  them,  or  fearful  of  the  Indian  rifle,  felt  no 
hesitancy,  from  his  known  character,  in  applying  to 
Harrod,  He  would  disappear  in  the  woods,  and  in 
the  exercise  of  his  own  wonderful  tact,  the  lost  beast 
was  soon  seen  driving  to  the  door. 

But  the  precincts  of  a  station,  or  the  field  of  a  farm, 
were  too  uncongenial  a  range  for  such  a  spirit  as  his. 
To  breathe  the  fresh  forest  air — to  range  deserts 
where  man  was  not  to  be  seen — to  pursue  the  wild 
deer  and  buffalo — to  trap  the  bear  and  the  wolf,  or 
beside  the  still  pond,  or  the  unexplored  stream, 
to  catch  otters  and  beavers — to  bring  down  the 
wild  turkey  from  the  summit  of  the  highest  trees; 
such  were  the  congenial  pursuits  in  which  he  de- 
lighted. 

But,  in  a  higher  sphere,  and  in  the  service  of  his 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  173 

country,  he  united  the  instinctive  tact  and  dexterity 
of  a  huntsman  with  the  bravery  of  a  soldier.  No 
labor  was  too  severe  for  his  hardihood;  no  enterprise 
too  daring  and  forlorn  for  his  adventure;  no  course 
too  intricate  and  complicated  for  his  judgment,  so  far 
as  native  talent  could  guide  it.  As  a  Colonel  of  the 
militia,  he  conducted  expeditions  against  the  Indians 
with  uncommon  success.  After  the  country  had 
become  populous,  and  he  a  husband  and  a  father,  in 
the  midst  of  an  atfectionate  family,  possessed  of  every 
comfort — such  was  the  effect  of  temperament,  oper- 
ating upon  habit,  that  he  became  often  silent  and 
thoughtful  in  the  midst  of  the  social  circle,  and  was 
seen  in  that  frame  to  wander  away  into  remote  for 
ests,  and  to  bury  himself  amidst  the  unpeopled  knobs, 
where,  in  a  few^  weeks,  he  would  reacquire  his  cheer 
fulness.  In  one  of  these  excursions  he  disappeared, 
and  was  seen  no  more,  leaving  no  trace  to  determine 
whether  he  died  a  natural  death,  was  slain  by  wild 
beasts,  or  the  tomahawk  of  the  savage. 

Among  the  names  of  many  of  the  first  settlers  of 
Harrodsburgh,  are  those  that  are  found  most  promi- 
nent in  the  early  annals,  of  Kentucky,  In  ihe  first 
list  of  these  we  find  the  names  of  McGai-y,  Harland, 
McBride,  and  Chaplain.  Among  the  young  settlers, 
none  were  more  conspicuous  for  active,  daring,  and 
meritorious  service,  than  James  Ray.  Prompt  at  his 
post  at  the  first  moment  of  alarm,  brave  in  the  field, 
fearless  and  persevering  in  the  pursuit  of  the  enemy, 
scarcely  a  battle,  skirmish,  or  expedition  took  place 
in  which  he  had  not  a  distinguished  part.     Equally 

expert  as  a  woodsman,  and  skilful  and  successful  as 

15" 


174  IJFE    OF    I>ANIEL    BOO^'K. 

a  hunter,  he  was  often  employed  as  a  spy.  It  is  re- 
corded of  him  that  he  left  his  garrison,  when  sjiort 
of  provisions,  by  night  marched  to  a  forest  at  the  dis- 
tance of  six  miles,  killed  a  butfalo,  and,  loaded  with 
the  choice  parts  of  the  flesh,  returned  to  regale  the 
hungry  inhabitants  in  the  morning.  He  achieved 
this  enterprise,  too,  when  it  was  well  known  that  the 
vicinity  w^as  thronged  with  Indians,  lurking  for  an 
opportunity  to  kill.  These  are  the  positions  which 
try  the  daring  and  skill,  the  usefulness  and  value  of 
men,  furnishing  a  criterion  which  cannot  be  coun- 
terfeited between  reality  and  resemblance. 

We  may  perhaps  in  this  place  most  properly  in- 
troduce another  of  the  famous  partisans  in  savage 
warfare,  Simon  Kenton,  alias  Butler,  who,  from  hum- 
ble beginnings,  made  himself  conspicuous  by  distin- 
guished services  and  achievements  in  thje  first  settle- 
ments of  this  country,  and  ought  to  be  recorded  as 
one  of  the  patriarchs  of  Kentucky.  He  was  born 
in  Virginia,  in  1753.  He  grew  to  maturity  without 
being  able  to  read  or  write;  but  from  his  early  ex- 
ploits he  seems  to  have  been  endowed  with  feelings 
which  the  educated  and  those  born  in  the  uppei 
walks  of  life,  appear  to  suppose  a  monopoly  reseiTed 
for  themselves.  It  is  recorded  of  him,  that  at 
the  age  of  nineteen,  he  had  a  violent  contest  with 
another  competitor  for  the  favor  of  the  lady  of  his 
love.  She  refused  to  make  an  election  between 
them,  and  the  subject  of  this  notice  indignantly  ex- 
iled himself  from  his  native  place.  After  various 
})eregrinations  on  the  long  rivers  of  the  west,  he  fixed 
himself    in    Kentucky,    and    soon  became   a   dis- 


LIFE   «)F    DANIEL    BOONE.  175 

tinguished  partisan  against  the  savages.  In  1774, 
he  joined  himself  to  Lord  Dunmore,  and  was  ap- 
pointed one  of  his  spies.  He  made  various  excur- 
sions, and  performed  important  services  in  this  em- 
ploy. He  finally  selected  a  place  for  improvement 
on  the  site  where  Washington  now  is.  Returning 
vne  day  from  hunting,  he  found  one  of  his  compan- 
ons  slain  by  the  Indians,  and  his  body  thrown  into 
ihe  fire.  He  left  Washington  in  consequence,  and 
joined  himself  to  Colonel  Clarke  in  his  fortunate 
md  gallant  expedition  against  Vincennes  and  Kas- 
v:askia.  He  was  sent  by  that  commander  with 
'fespatches  for  Kentucky.  He  passed  through  the 
fctreets  of  Vincennes,  then  in  possession  of  the  Bri- 
lish  and  Indians,  without  discovery.  Arriving  at 
iVhite  river,  he  and  his  party  made  a  raft  on  which 
to  cross  with  their  guns  and  baggage,  driving  their 
horses  into  the  river  and  compelling  them  to  swim 
it.  A  party  of  Indians  was  concealed  on  the  op- 
posite bank,  who  took  possession  of  the  horses  as 
they,  mounted  the  bank  from  crossing  the  river, 
Butler  and  his  party  seeing  this,  continued  to  float 
down  the  river  on  their  raft  without  coming  to  land. 
They  concealed  themselves  in  the  bushes  until 
night,  when  they  crossed  the  river,  pursued  their 
journey,  and  delivered  their  despatches. 

After  this,  Butler  made  a  journey  of  discovery  to 
the  northern  regions  of  the  Ohio  country,  and  was 
made  prisoner  by  the  Indians.  They  painted  him 
black,  as  is  their  custom  when  a  victim  is  destined 
for  their  torture,  and  informed  him  that  he  was  to 
be  burned    at  Chillicothe,     Meanwhile,   for    their 


I7G 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONfi. 


own  amusement,  and  as  a  prelude  of  his  torturey 
thej  manacled  him  hand  and  foot,  and  placed  him 
on  an  unbridled  and  unbroken  horse,  and  turned  the 
animal  loose,  driving  it  off  at  its  utmost  speed,  with 
shouts,  delighted  at  witnessing  its  mode  of  mana- 
ging with  its  living  burden.  The  horse  unable  to 
shake  off  this  new  and  strange  encumbrance,  made 
for  the  thickest  covert  of  the  woods  and  brambles, 
with  the  speed  of  the  winds.  It  is  easj  to  conjec- 
ture the  position  and  suffering  of  the  victim.  The 
terrified  animal  exhausted  itself  in  fruitless  efforts  to 
shake  off  its  burden,  and  worn  down  an<3  subdued, 
brought  Butler  back  amidst  the  jells  of  the  exulting 
savages  to  the  camp. 

Arrived  within  a  mile  of  Chillicothe,  thcj  halted, 
took  Butler  from  his  hors^  and  tied  him  to  a  stake, 
where  he  remained  twentj-four  hours  in  one  posi- 
tion. He  was  taken  from  the  stake  to  "run  the 
gauntlet."  The  Indian  mode  of  managing  this 
kind  of  torture  was  as  follows:  The  inhabitants  of 
the  tribe,  old  and  young,  were  placed  in  parallel 
lines,  armed  with  clubs  and  switches.  The  victim 
was  to  make  his  way  to  the  council  house  through 
these  files,  every  member  of  which  struggled  to 
beat  him  as  he  passed  as  severely  as  possible.  II 
he  reached  the  council  house  alive,  he  was  to  be 
spared.  In  the  lines  were  nearly  six  hundred  In- 
dians, and  Butler  had  to  make  his  way  almost  a  mile 
in  the  endurance  of  this  infernal  sport.  He  was 
started  by  a  blow;  but  soon  broke  through  the  files, 
and  had  almost  reached  the  council  house,  wlicn  a 
stout  warrior  knocked  him  down  with  a  club.     He 


LIFE    OF    DAl^IEL    BOONE.  177 

was  severely  beaten  in  this  position,  and  taken  back 
again  into  custody. 

It  seems  incredible  that  they  sometimes  adopted 
their  prisoners,  and  treated  them  with  the  utmost 
lenity  and  even  kindness.  At  other  times,  ingenuity 
was  exhausted  to  invent  tortures,  and  every  renewed 
endurance  of  the  victim  seemed  to  stimulate  their 
vengeance  to  new  discoveries  of  cruelty.  Butler 
was  one  of  these  ill-fated  subjects.  No  way  satis- 
fied with  what  they  had  done,  they  marched  him 
from  village  to  village  to  give  all  a  spectacle  of  his 
sutTe rings.  He  run  the  gauntlet  thirteen  times. 
He  made  various  attempts  to  escape;  and  in  one 
instance  would  have  effected  it,  had  he  not  been 
arrested  by  some  savages  who  were  accidentally 
returning  to  the  village  from  which  he  was  escaping. 
It  was  finally  determined  to  burn  him  at  the  Lower 
Sandusky,  but  an  apparent  accident  changed  his 
destiny. 

In  passing  to  the  stake,  the  procession  went  by 
the  cabin  of  Girty,  of  whom  w^e  have  already  spo- 
ken. This  renegade  w^hite  man  lived  among  these 
Indians,  and  had  just  returned  from  an  unsuccessful 
expedition  against  the  whites  on  the  frontiers  oi 
Pennsylvania.  The  wretch  burned  with  disap- 
pointment and  revenge,  and  hearing  that  there  was 
a  white  man  going  to  the  torture,  determined  to 
wreak  his  vengeance  on  him.  He  found  the  un- 
fortunate Butler,  threw  him  to  the  ground,  and  be- 
gan to  beat  him.  Butler,  who  instantly  recognized 
in  Girty  the  quondam  companion  and  playmate  of 
youth,  at  once  made  himself  known  to  him.     This 


178  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

sacramental  tie  of  friendship,  on  recognition,  caused 
the  savage  heart  of  Girty  to  relent.  He  raised  him 
up,  and  promised  to  save  him.  He  procured  the 
assemblage  of  a  council,  and  persuaded  the  savages 
to  relinquish  Butler  to  him.  He  took  the  unfortu- 
nate man  home,  fed,  and  clothed  him,  and  Butler 
began  to  recruit  from  his  wounds  and  torture.  But 
the  relenting  of  the  savages  was  only  transient  and 
momentary.  After  five  days  they  repented  of  their 
relaxation  in  his  favor,  reclaimed  him,  and  marched 
him  to  Lower  Sandusky  to  be  burned  there,  accor- 
ding to  their  original  purpose.  By  a  fortunate  coin- 
cidence, he  there  met  the  Indian  agent  from  De- 
troit, who,  from  motives  of  humanity,  exerted  his 
influence  with  the  savages  for  his  release,  and  took 
him  with  him  to  Detroit.  Here  he  was  paroled  by 
the  Governor.  He  escaped;  and  being  endowed, 
like  Daniel  Boone,  to  be  at  home  in  the  woods,  by 
a  march  of  thirty  days  through  the  wilderness,  he 
reached  Kentucky. 

In  1784,  Simon  Kenton  reoccupied  the  settle- 
ment, near  Washington,  which  he  had  commenced 
in  1775.  Associated  with  a  number  of  people,  he 
erected  a  block-house,  and  made  a  station  here. 
This  became  an  important  point  of  covering  and 
defence  for  the  interior  country.  Immigrants  felt 
more  confidence  in  landing  at  Limestone.  To  ren- 
der this  confidence  more  complete,  Kenton  and  hi? 
associates  built  a  block-house  at  Limestone.  Two 
men,  of  the  name  of  Tanner,  had  made  a  small  set- 
tlement the  year  preceding  at  Blue  Lick,  and  were 
now  making  salt  there.     The  route  from  Limestone 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  179 

to  Lexington  became  one  of  the  most  general  travel 
for  immigrants,  and  many  stations  sprang  up  upon 
it.  Travellers  to  the  country  had  hitherto  been 
compelled  to  sleep  under  the  open  canopy,  exposed 
to  the  rains  and  dews  of  the  night.  But  cabins 
were  now  so  common,  that  they  might  generally 
repose  under  a  roof  that  sheltered  them  from  the 
weather,  and  find  a  bright  fire,  plenty  of  wood,  and 
with  the  rustic  fare,  a  most  cheerful  and  cordial, 
welcome.  The  people  of  these  new  regions  were 
hospitable  from  native  inclination.  They  were  hos- 
pitable from  circumstances.  None  but  those  who 
dwell  in  a  wilderness,  where  the  savages  roam  and 
the  wolves  hov/1,  can  understand  all  the  pleasant 
associations  connected  with  the  sight  of  a  strangci 
of  the  same  race.  The  entertainer  felt  himself 
stronger  from  the  presence  of  his  guest.  His  offer- 
ed food  and  fare  were  the  spoils  of  the  chase.  He 
heard  news  from  the  old  settlements  and  the  great 
world;  and  he  saw  in  the  accession  of  every  stran- 
ger a  new  guaranty  of  the  security,  wealth,  and  im- 
provement of  the  infant  country  where  he  had  cho 
sen  his  resting  place. 

Among  other  worthy  associates  of  Boone,  we  may 
mention  the  family  of  McAfee.  Two  brothers, 
James  and  Robert,  emigrated  from  the  county  of 
Botetourt,  Virginia,  and  settled  on  Salt  river,  six 
miles  from  Harrodsburgh.  Having  revisited  their 
parent  country,  on  their  return  they  brought  with 
them  William  and  George  McAfee.  In  1777,  the 
Indians  destroyed  the  whole  of  their  valuable  stock 
of  cattle,  while   they  were  absent  from  Kentucky. 


180  LIFE    OI     DANIEL    HOOVE. 

In  1779  the  J  returned,  and  settled  McAfee's  sta. 
tion,  which  was  subsequently  compelled  to  take  its 
full  share  in  the  sufferings  and  dangers  of  Indian 
hostilities. 

Benjamin  Logan  immigrated  to  the  country  in 
1775,  as  a  private  citizen.  But  he  was  a  man  of 
too  much  character  to  remain  unnoted.  As  his 
character  developed,  he  was  successively  appointed 
a  magistrate,  elected  a  member  of  the  legislature 
and  rose,  as  a  military  character,  to  the  rank  ot 
general.  His  parents  were  natives  of  Ireland,  who 
emigrated,  while  young,  to  Pennsylvania,  where 
they  married,  and  soon  afterwards  removed  to  Au- 
gusta county,  Virginia. 

Benjamin,  their  oldest  son,  was  born  there;  and  at 
the  age  of  fourteen,  lost  his  father.  Charged,  at 
this  early  age,  with  the  care  of  a  widowed  mother, 
and  children  still  younger  than  himself,  neither  the 
circumstances  of  his  family,  of  the  country,  or  his 
pecuhar  condition,  allowed  him  the  chances  of  ed- 
ucation. Almost  as  unlettered  as  James  Harrod, 
he  was  a  memorable  example  of  a  self-formed  man. 
Great  natural  acuteness,  and  strong  intellectual 
powers,  were,  however,  adorned  by  a  disposition  of 
uncommon  benevolence.  Under  the  eye  of  an  ex- 
cellent father,  he  commenced  with  the  rudiments  of 
common  instruction,  the  soundest  lessons  of  Chiis- 
tian  piety  and  morality,  which  were  continued  by 
the  guidance  and  example  of  an  admirable  mother^ 
with  whom  he  resided  until  he  was  turned  of  twen- 
ty-one. 

His  father  had  deceased  intestate,  and,  in  virtue  of 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    UOONE.  181 

the  laws  then  in  force,  the  whole  extensive  in- 
heritance of  his  father's  lands  descended  to  him, 
to  the  exclusion  of  his  brothers  and  sisters.  .His 
example  ought  to  be  recorded  for  the  benefit  of 
those  grasping  children  in  these  days,  who,  dead 
to  all  natural  affection,  and  every  sentiment  but 
avarice,  seize  all  that  the  law  will  grant,  whether 
equity  will  sanction  it  or  not.  Disregarding  this 
claim  of  primogeniture,  he  insisted  that  the  whole 
inheritance  should  be  parceled  into  equal  shares, 
of  which  he  accepted  only  his  own.  But  the  gen- 
erous impulses  of  his  noble  nature,  were  not  limited 
to  the  domestic  circle.  His  heart  was  warm  with 
the  more  enlarged  sentiments  of  patriotism.  At 
the  age  of  twenty-one,  he  accompanied  Colonel 
Beauquette,  as  a  serjeant,  in  a  hostile  expedition 
against  the  Indians  of  the  north.  Having  provided 
for  the  comfortable  settlement  of  his  mother  and 
family  on  James  River,  Virginia,  he  moved  to  the 
Holston,  where  he  settled  and  married. 

Having  been  in  the  expedition  of  Lord  Dunmore 
against  the  Indians,  and  having  thus  acquired  a 
taste  for  forest  marches  and  incident,  he  determined, 
in  1775,  to  try  his  fortunes  in  Kentucky,  which 
country  had  then  just  become  a  theme  of  discus- 
sion. He  set  forth  from  his  mother's  family  with 
three  slaves,  leaving  the  rest  to  her.  In  Powell's 
valley  he  met  with  Boone,  Henderson,  and  other 
kindred  spirits,  and  pursued  his  journey  towards 
Kentucky  in  company  with  them.  He  parted  from 
them,  before  they  reached  Boonesborough,  and  se- 

16 


182  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

lected  a  spot  for  himself,  afterwards  called  Logan's 
fort,  or  station. 

In  the  winter  of  1776,  he  removed  his  family 
from  Holston,  and  in  March,  arrived  with  it  in 
Kentucky.  It  was  the  same  year  in  which  the 
daughter  of  Col.  Boone,  and  those  of  Col.  Callo- 
way were  made  captives.  The  whole  country  be- 
ing in  a  state  of  alarm,  he  endeavored  to  assemble 
some  of  the  settlers  that  were  dispersed  in  the 
country  called  the  Crab  Orchard,  to  join  him  at 
his  cabins,  and  there  form  a  station  of  suflficient 
strength  to  defend  itself  against  Indian  assauJt. 
But  finding  them  timid  and  unresolved,  he  wa&  him- 
seif  olyliged  to  desert  his  incipient  settlement,  and 
move  for  safety  to  Harrodsburgh.  Yet,  such  wag 
his  determination  not  to  abandon  his  selected  spot, 
that  he  raised  a  crop  of  corn  there,  defenceless  and 
S'lrrounded  on  all  sides  by  Indian  incursion. 

In  the  winter  of  1777,  and  previous  to  the  at- 
tack of  Harrodsburgh,  he  found  six  families  ready 
to  share  with  him  the  dangers  of  the  selected  spot; 
and  he  removed  his  family  with  them  to  his  cabins, 
where  the  settlement  immediately  united  in  the  im- 
portant duty  of  palisading  a  station. 

Before  these  arrangements  were  fully  completed, 
as  the  fem.ales  of  the  establishment,  on  the  twen- 
tieth of  May,  were  milking  their  cows,  sustained  by 
a  gu^rd  of  their  husbands  and  fathers,  the  wliolc 
party  was  suddenly  assailed  by  a  large  body  of  In- 
dians, concealed  in  a  cane-brake.  One  man  was 
killed,  and  two  wounded,  one  mortally,  the  other 
severely.     The  remainder  reached   the  interior  of 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONB.  183 

jBte  palisades  in  safety.  The  number  in  all  was 
Jiirty,  half  of  whom  were  women  and  children. 
A  circumstance  was  now  discovered,  exceedingly 
tiying  to  such  a  benevolent  spirit  as  that  of  Logan. 
While  the  Indians  were  still  firing,  and  the  inmates 
part  exulting  in  their  safety,  and  the  others  mourn- 
ing over  their  dead  and  wounded,  it  was  perceived, 
that  one  of  the  wounded,  by  the  name  of  Harrison, 
was  still  alive,  and  exposed  every  moment  to  be 
scalped  by  the  Indians.  All  this  his  wife  and  fam- 
ily could  discern  from  within.  It  is  not  difficult  to 
imagine  their  agonizing  condition,  and  piercing 
lamentations  for  the  fate  of  one  so  dear  to  them. 
Logan  discovered,  on  this  occasion,  the  same  keen 
sensibility  to  tenderness,  and  insensibility  to  dan- 
ger, that  characterized  his  friend  Boone  in  similar 
predicaments.  He  endeavored  to  rally  a  few  of 
the  small  number  of  the  male  inmates  of  the  place 
to  join  him,  and  rush  out,  and  assist  in  attempting  to 
bring  the  wounded  man  within  the  palisades.  But 
so  obvious  was  the  danger,  so  forlorn  appeared  the 
enterprise,  that  no  one  could  be  found  disposed  to 
volunteer  his  aid,  except  a  single  individual  by  the 
name  of  John  Martin.  When  they  had  reached 
the  gate,  the  wounded  man  raised  himself  partly 
erect,  and  made  a  movement,  as  if  disposed  to  try 
to  reach  the  fort  himself.  On  this,  Martin  desisted 
from  the  enterprise,  and  left  Logan  to  attempt 
it  alone.  He  rushed  forward  to  the  wounded  man. 
He  made  some  efforts  to  crawl  onwards  by  the  aid 
of  Logan;  but  weakened  by  the  loss  of  blood,  and 
the   agony  of  his  wounds,  he  fainted,  and   Logan 


I8^i  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

taking  him  up  in  his  arms,  bore  him  towards  the 
fort.  A  shower  of  bullets  was  discharged  upon 
them,  many  of  which  struck  the  palisades  close  to 
his  head,  as  he  brought  the  wounded  man  safe 
within  the  gate,  and  deposited  him  in  the  care  of 
his  family. 

The  station,  at  this  juncture,  was  destitute  of  both 
p  frder  and  ball ;  and  there,  was  no  chance  of  sup- 
ply nearer  than  Holston.  All  intercourse  between 
station  and  station  was  cut  off.  Without  ammuni- 
tion the  station  could  not  be  defended  against  the 
Indians,  The  question  was,  how  to  obviate  this 
pressing  emergency,  and  obtain  a  supply?  Cap- 
tain Logan  selected  two  trusty  companions,  left  the 
fort  by  night,  evaded  the  besieging  Indians,  reach- 
ed the  woods,  and  with  his  companions  made  his 
way  in  safety  to  Holston,  procured  the  necessary 
supply  of  ammunition,  packed  it  under  their  care 
on  horseback,  giving  them  directions  how  to  pro- 
ceed. He  then  left  them,  and  traversing  the  forests 
by  a  shorter  route  on  foot,  he  reached  the  fort  in 
safety,  in  ten  days  from  his  departure.  The  In- 
dians still  kept  up  the  siege  with  unabated  perseve- 
rance. The  hopes  of  the  diminished  garrison  had 
given  way  to  despair.  The  return  of  Logan  inspi- 
red them  wdth  renewed  confidence. 

Uniting  the  best  attributes  of  a  w^oodsman  and  a 
soldier  to  uncommoa  local  acquaintance  with  the 
country,  his  instinctive  sagacity  prescribed  to  him, 
on  this  journey,  the  necessity  of  deserting  the  beat- 
en path,  where,  he  was  aware,  he  should  be  inter- 
cepted by  the  savages.     Avoiding,  from  the  same 


MFE    OF    DANIEL    noONIl.  185 

talculalioii,  the  passage  of  the  Cumberland  Gap,  he 
explored  a  track  in  which  man,  or  at  least  the  white 
man,  had  never  trodden  before.  We  may  add,  it 
has  never  been  trodden  since.  Through  cane- 
brakes  and  tangled  thickets,  over  cliffs  and  precipi- 
ces, and  pathless  mountains,  he  made  his  sohtary 
way.  Following  his  directions  imphcitly,  his  com- 
panions, who  carried  the  ammunition,  also  reached 
the  fort,  and  it  wa^  saved. 

His  rencounters  with  the  Indians,  and  his  hair- 
breadth escapes  make  no  inconsiderable  figure  in 
the  subsequent  annals  of  Kentucky.  The  year 
after  the  siege  of  his  fort,  on  a  hunting  excursion, 
he  discovered  an  Indian  camp,  at  Big  Flat  Spring, 
two  miles  from  his  station.  Returning  immedi- 
ately he  raised  a  party,  with  which  he  attacked 
the  camp,  from  which  the  Indians  fled  with  precip- 
itation, without  much  loss  on  their  part,  and  none 
on  his.  A  short  time  after  he  was  attacked  at  the 
same  place,  by  another  party  of  Indians.  His  arm 
was  broken  by  their  fire,  and  he  was  otherwise 
slightly  wounded  in  the  breast.  They  even  seized 
the  mane  of  his  horse,  and  he  escap6#  them  from 
their  extreme  eagerness  to  take  him  alive. 

No  sooner  were  his  wounds  healed,  than  we  find 
him  in  the  fore  front  of  the  expedition  against  the 
Indians.  In  1779,  he  served  as  a  captain  in  Bow- 
man's campaign.  He  signalized  his  bravery  in  the 
unfortunate  battle  that  ensued,  and  was  with  difii- 
culty  compelled  to  retire,  when  retreat  became 
necessary.     The  next  year  a  party  travelling  from 

riarrodsburgb  towards  Loi^an's  fort,  were  fired  upon 

iti* 


186  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

by  the  Indians,  and  two  of  them  mortally  wounded 
One,  however,  sur-v^ved  to  reach  the  fort,  and  give 
an  account  of  the  fate  of  his  wounded  companion. 
Logan  immediately  raised  a  small  party  of  young 
men,  and  repaired  to  the  aid  of  the  wounded  man, 
who  had  crawled  out  of  sight  of  the  Indians  behind 
a  clump  of  bushes.  He  was  still  alive.  Logan 
took  him  on  his  shoulders,  occasionally  relieved  in 
sustaining  the  burden  by  his  younger  associates, 
and  in  this  way  conveyed  him  to  the  fort.  On 
their  return  from  Harrodsburgh,  Logan's  party 
were  fired  upon,  and  one  of  the  party  wounded. 
The  assailants  v/ere  repelled  with  loss;  and  it  was 
Logan's  fortune  again  to  be  the  bearer  of  the 
wounded  man  upon  his  shoulders  for  a  long  distance, 
exposed,  the  while,  to  the  fire  of  the  Indians. 

His  reputation  for  bravery  and  hospitality,  and 
the  influence  of  a  long  train  of  connections,  caused 
him  to  be  the  instrument  of  bringing  out  many  im- 
migrants to  Kentucky.  They  were  of  a  character 
to  prove  an  acquisition  to  the  country.  Like  his 
friends,  Daniel  Boone,  and  James  Harrod,  his  house 
was  open  '"^Hfell  the  recent  immigrants.  In  the 
early  stages'  of  the  settlement  of  the  country,  his 
station,  like  Boone's  and  Harrod's,  was  one  of  the 
main  pillars  of  the  colony.  Feeling  the  importance 
of  this  station,  as  a  point  of  support  to  the  infant 
settlements,  he  took  effectual  measures  to  keep 
up  an  intercourse  with  the  other  stations,  partic- 
ularly those  of  Boone  and  Harrod.  Dangerous 
as  this  intercourse  was,  Logan  generally  travelled 
alone,  often  by  night,  and  universally  with   such 


LIFE   or    DANIEL    BOONE.  187 

swiftness  of  foot,  that  few  could  be  found  able  to 
keep  speed  with  him. 

In  the  year  1780,  he  received  his  commission  as 
Colonel,  and  was  soon  after  a  member  of  the  Vir- 
ginia legislature  at  Richmond.  In  the  year  1781, 
the  Indians  attacked  Montgomery's  station,  consist- 
ing of  six  families,  connected  by  blood  witli  Colo- 
nel Logan.  The  father  and  brother  of  Mrs.  Lo- 
gan were  killed,  and  her  sister-in-law,  with  four 
children,  taken  prisoners.  This  disaster  occurred 
about  ten  miles  from  Logan's  fort.  His  first  object 
was  to  rescue  the  prisoners,  and  his  next  to  chas- 
tise the  barbarity  of  the  Indians.  He  immediately 
collected  a  party  of  his  friends,  and  repaired  to  the 
scene  of  action.  He  was  here  joined  by  the  be- 
reaved relatives  of  Montgomery's  family.  He  com- 
manded a  rapid  pursuit  of  the  enemy,  who  were 
soon  overtaken,  and  briskly  attacked.  They  faced 
upon  their  assailants,  but  were  beaten  after  a  se- 
vere conflict.  William  Montgomery  killed  three 
Indians,  and  wounded  a  fourth.  Two  women  and 
three  children  were  rescued.  The  savages  murder- 
ed the  other  child  to  prevent  its  hieing  re-taken. 
The  other  prisoners  would  have  experienced  the 
same  fate,  had  they  not  fled  for  their  lives  into  the 
thickets. 

It  would  be  very  easy  to  extend  this  brief  sketch 
of  some  of  the  more  conspicuous  pioneers  of  Ken- 
tucky. Their  heroic  and  disinterested  services, 
their  lavish  prodigality  of  their  blood  and  property, 
gave  them  that  popularity  which  is  universally  felt 


188  LIFE    OF    DAMEl     BOONE. 

to  be  a  high  and  priceless  acquisition.  Loved,  and 
trusted,  and  honored  as  fathers  of  their  country, 
wliile  they  lived,  they  had  the  persuasion  of  such 
generous  minds  as  theirs,  that  their  names  vrould 
descend  with  blessings  to  their  grateful  posterity 


UFE  OF  DANIEL  BOONE.  189 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Boone's  brother  killed,  and  Boone  himself  narrowly  escapes  from  the 
Indians — Assault  upon  Ashton's  station — and  upon  the  station  near 
Shelbyville — Attack  upon  McAfFee's  station. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  the  elder  brother  of 
Col.  Boone  and  his  second  return  to  the  Yadkin. 
A  fondness  for  the  western  valleys  seems  to  have 
been  as  deeply  engraven  in  his  affections,  as  in  the 
heart  of  his  brother.  He  subsequently  returned 
once  more  with  his  family  to  Kentucky.  In  1780 
we  find  a  younger  brother  of  Daniel  Boone  resi- 
dent with  him.  The  two  brothers  set  out  on  the 
sixth  of  October  of  that  year,  to  revisit  the  blue 
Licks.  It  may  well  strike  us  as  a  singular  fact,  that 
Colonel  Boone  should  have  felt  any  disposition  to 
revisit  a  place  that  was  connected  with  so  many 
former  disasters.  But,  as  a  place  convenient  for 
the  manufacture  of  salt,  it  was  a  point  of  impor- 
tance to  the  rapidly  growing  settlement.  They 
had  manufactured  as  much  salt  as  they  could  pack, 
and  were  returning  to  Boonesborough,  when  they 
were  overtaken  by  a  party  of  Indians.  By  the  first 
fire  Colonel  Boone's  brother  fell  dead  by  his  side. 
Daniel  Boone  faced  the  enemy,  and  aimed  at  the 
foremost  Indian,  who  appeared  to  have  been  the 
slayer  of  his  brother.  That  Indian  fell.  By  this 
time  he  discovered  a  host  advancing  upon  him. 
Taking  the  still  loaded  rifle  of  his  fallen  brother, 
be  prostrated  another  foe,  and  while  flying  from  hii 


190  LIFE  OF    DANIEL    BOONffip 

enemy  found  time  to  reload  his  rifle.  The  balleta 
of  a  dozen  muskets  whistled  about  his  head;  but 
the  distance  of  the  foe  rendered  them  harmless. 
No  scalp  would  have  been  of  so  much  value  to  hia 
pursuers  as  that  of  the  well  known  Daniel  Boone  j 
and  they  pursued  him  with  the  utmost  eagerness. 
His  object  was  so  far  to  outstrip  them,  as  to  be  able 
to  conceal  his  trail,  and  put  them  to  fault  in  regard 
to  his  course.  He  made  for  a  little  hill,  behind 
which  was  a  stream  of  water.  He  sprang  into  the 
water  and  waded  up  its  current  for  some  distance.;, 
And  then  emerged  and  struck  off  at  right  angles  to 
his  former  course.  Darting  onward  at  the  height 
of  his  speed,  he  hoped  that  he  had  distanced  them^ 
and  thrown  them  off  his  trail.  To  his  infinite  mor- 
tification, he  discovered  that  his  foe,  either  acci- 
dentally, or  from  their  natural  sagacity,  had  render- 
ed all  his  caution  fruitless,  and  were  fiercely  pursu- 
ing him  still.  His  next  expedient  Wcis  that  of  a 
swing  by  the  aid  of  a  grape-vine,  which  had  so 
well  served  him  on  a  like  occasion  before.  He 
soon  found  one  convenient  for  the  experiment,  and 
availed  himself  of  it,  as  before.  This  hope  was 
also  disappointed.  His  foe  still  hung  with  staunch 
peseverance  on  his  trail.  He  now  perceived  by 
their  movements,  that  they  were  conducted  by  a 
dog,  that  easily  ran  in  zig-zag  directions,  when  at 
fault,  until  it  had  re-scented  his  course.  The  expe- 
dient of  Boone  was  the  only  one  that  seemed  ade- 
quate to  save  him.  His  gun  was  reloaded.  The 
dog  was  in  advance  of  the  Indians,  still  scenting  his 
track.     A  rifle  shot  delivered  him  from  his  officioui 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  191 

pursuer.  He  soon  reached  a  point  convenient  for 
concealing  liis  trail,  and  while  the  Indians  were 
hunting  for  it,  gained  so  much  upon  them  as  to  be 
eniibled  to  reach  Boonesborough  in  safety. 

At  the  close  of  the  autumn  of  1780,  Kentucky, 
from  being  one  county,  was  divided  into  three, 
named  Jefferson,  Fayette,  and  Lincoln.  William 
Pope,  Daniel  Boone,  and  Benjamin  Logan,  were 
appointed  to  the  important  offices  of  comnnanding 
the  militia  of  their  respective  counties. 

During  this  year  Col.  Clarke  descended  the  Ohio, 
with  a  part  of  his  Virginia  regiment,  and  after  en- 
tering the  Mississippi,  at  the  first  bluff  on  the  eas- 
tern bank,  he  landed  and  built  Fort  Jefferson.     The 
occupation   of  this   fort,   for  the  time,   added  the 
Chickasaws  to  the  number  of  hostile  Indians  that  the 
western  people  had  to  encounter.     It  was  soon  dis- 
covered, that  it  would  be  advisable  to  evacuate  it,  aa 
a  mean  of  restoring  peace.     It  was  on  their   ac- 
knowleged  lerritory.  It  had   been  erected  without 
their  consent.     They  boasted  it,  as  a  proof  of  their 
friendship,  that  they  had  never  invaded  Kentucky; 
and  they  indignantly  resented  this  violation  of  their 
territory.     The  evacuation  of  the  fort  was  the  terms 
of  a  peace  which  the  Chickasaws  faithfully  obsen'ed. 
The  winter  of  1781,  was  one  of  unusual  length 
and  distress  for  the  young  settlement  of  Kentucky. 
Many  of  the  immigrants  arrived  after  the  close  of 
the  hunting  season;  and  beside,  were  unskilful   in 
the  difficult  pursuit  of  supplying   themselves    with 
game.     The  Indians  had  destroyed  most  of  the  corn 
of  the  preceding  summer,  and  the  number  of  per- 


iy*i  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

sons  to  be  supplied  had  rapidly  increased.  These 
circumstances  created  a  temporary  famine,  which, 
added  to  the  severity  of  the  season,  inflicted  much 
severe  suffering  upon  the  settlement.  Boone  and 
Harrod  were  abroad,  breasting  the  keen  forest  air, 
and  seeking  the  retreat  of  the  deer  and  buffalo,  now 
becoming  scarce,  as  the  inhabitants  multiplied. 
These  indefatigable  and  intrepid  men  supplied  the 
hungry  immigrants  with  the  flesh  of  buffaloes  and 
deers;  and  the  hardy  settlers,  accustomed  to  priva- 
tions, and  not  to  over  delicacy  in  their  food,  content- 
ed themselves  to  live  entirely  on  meat,  until,  in  the 
ensuing  autumn,  they  once  more  derived  abundance 
from  the  fresh  and  fertile  soil. 

In  May,  1782,  a  body  of  savages  assaulted  Ash- 
ton's  station,  killed  one  man,  and  took  another  pris- 
oner. Captain  Ashton,  with  twenty-five  men,  pur- 
sued and  overtook  them.  An  engagement,  which 
lasted  two  hours,  ensued.  But  the  great  superiority 
of  the  Indians  in  number,  obliged  Captain  Ashton 
to  retreat.  The  loss  of  this  intrepid  party  was  se- 
vere. Eight  were  killed,  and  four  mortally  woun- 
ded— their  brave  commander  being  among  the  num- 
ber of  the  slain.  Four  children  were  taken  captive 
from  Major  Hoy's  station,  in  August  following. 
Unwarned  by  the  fate  of  Captain  Ashton's  party, 
Captain  Holden,  with  the  inadequate  force  of  seven- 
teen men,  pursued  the  captors,  came  up  with  them,^ 
and  were  defeated  with  the  loss  of  four  men  killed, 
and  one  wounded. 

This  was  one  of  the  most  disastrous  periods  since 
Ihe  settlement  c^  the  country.     A  number  of  the 


OF   DANIEL   BOONE.  195 

more  recent  and  feeble  stations,  were  so  annoyed 
bj  savage  hostility  as  to  be  broken  up.  The  horses 
were  carried  off,  and  the  cattle  killed  in  every  di- 
rection. Near  Lexington,  a  man  at  work  in  his 
field,  was  shot  dead  by  a  single  Indian,  who  ran  upon 
his  foe  to  scalp  him,  and  was  himself  shot  dead  from 
the  fort,  and  fell  on  the  body  of  his  foe. 

During  the  severity  of  winter,  the  fury  of  Indian 
incursion  was  awhile  suspended,  and  the  stern  and 
scarred  hunters  had  a  respite  of  a  few  weeks  about 
their  cabin  fires.  But  in  March,  the  hostihties  were 
renewed,  and  several  marauding  parties  of  Indians 
entered  the  country  from  north  of  the  Ohio.  CoL 
WilHam  Lyn,  and  Captains  Tipton  and  Chapman, 
were  killed  by  small  detachments  that  waylaid  them 
upon  the  Beargrass.  In  pursuit  of  one  of  these  par^ 
ties,  Captain  Aquila  White,  with  seventeen  men 
trailed  the  Indians  to  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio.  Sup- 
posing that  they  had  crossed,  he  embarked  his  men 
in  canoes  to  follow  them  on  the  other  shore.  They 
had  just  committed  themselves  to  the  stream,  when 
they  were  fired  upon  from  the  shore  they  had  left. 
Nine  of  the  party  were  killed  or  wounded.  Yet, 
enfeebled  as  the  remainder  were,  they  relanded, 
faced  the  foe,  and  compelled  them  to  retreat. 

In  April  following,  a  station  settled  by  Boone's 
elder  brother,  near  the  present  site  where  Shelby- 
ville  now  stands,  became  alarmed  by  the  appearance 
of  parties  of  Indians  in  its  vicinity.  The  people,  in 
consternation,  unadvisedly  resolved  to  remove  to 
Beargrass.  The  men  accordingly  set  out  encumber- 
ed with  women,  children,  and  baggage.     In  this  de- 

17 


194  LIFE   OF   DANEEL   BOONB. 

fenceless  predicament,  they  were  attacked  by  the 
Indians  near  Long  Run.  They  experienced  some 
loss,  and  a  general  dispersion  from  each  other  in  the 
woods.  Colonel  Floyd,  in  great  haste,  raised  twen- 
ty-five men,  and  repaired  to  the  scene  of  action, 
intent  alike  upon  administering  relief  to  the  suffer- 
ers, and  chastisement  to  the  enemy.  He  divided 
his  party,  and  advanced  upon  them  with  caution. 
But  their  superior  knowledge  of  the  country,  ena- 
bled the  Indians  to  ambuscade  both  divisions,  and  to 
defeat  them  with  the  loss  of  half  his  men;  a  loss 
poorly  compensated  by  the  circumstance,  that  a  still 
greater  number  of  the  savages  fell  in  the  engage- 
ment. The  number  of  the  latter  were  supposed  to 
be  three  times  that  of  Colonel  Floyd's  party.  The 
Colonel  narrowly  escaped  with  his  life,  by  the  aid 
of  Captain  Samuel  Wells,  who,  seeing  him  on  foot, 
pui'sued  by  the  enemy,  dismounted  and  gave  him  his 
own  horse,  and  as  he  fled,  ran  by  his  side  to  support 
bim  on  the  saddle,  from  which  he  might  have  fallen 
through  weakness  from  his  wounds. — This  act  of 
Captain  Wells  was  the  more  magnanimous,  as  Floyd 
and  himself  were  not  friends  at  the  time.  Such  no- 
ble generosity  was  not  thrown  away  upon  Floyd. 
It  produced  its  natural  effect,  and  these  two  persons 
lived  and  died  friends.  It  is  pleasant  to  record 
such  a  mode  of  quelling  animosity. 

Early  in  May,  two  men,  one  of  whom  was  San>- 
uel  McAfee,  left  James  McAfee's  station,  to  go  to  a 
clearing  at  a  short  distance.  They  had  advanced 
about  a  fourth  of  a  mile,  when  they  were  fired  upon. 
The  companion  of  McAfee  fell.     The  latter  turned 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  195 

and  fled  towards  the  station.  He  had  not  gained 
more  than  fifteen  steps  when  he  met  an  Indian. 
Both  paused  a  moment  to  raise  their  guns,  in  order 
to  discharge  them.  The  muzzles  almost  touched. 
Both  fired  at  the  same  moment.  The  Indian's  gun 
flashed  in  the  pan,  and  he  fell.  McAfee  continued 
his  retreat;  but  before  he  reached  the  station,  its  in- 
mates had  heard  the  report  of  the  guns;  and  James 
and  Robert,  brothers  of  McAfee,  had  come  out  to 
the  aid  of  those  attacked.  The  three  brothers  met. 
Robert,  notwithstanding  the  caution  he  received 
from  his  brother,  ran  along  the  path  to  see  the  dead 
Indian.  The  party  of  Indians  to  which  he  had  be- 
longed, were  upon  the  watch  among  the  trees,  and 
several  of  them  placed  themselves  between  Robert 
and  the  station,  to  intercept  his  return.  Soon  made 
aware  of  the  danger  to  which  his  thoughtlessness 
had  exposed  him,  he  found  all  his  dexterity  and 
knowledge  of  Indian  warfare  requisite  to  ensure  his 
safety.  He  sprang  from  behind  one  tree  to  another, 
in  the  direction  of  the  station,  pursued  by  an  Indian 
until  he  reached  a  fence  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
it,  which  he  cleared  by  a  leap.  The  Indian  had 
posted  himself  behind  a  tree  to  take  safe  aim. — 
McAfee  was  now  prepared  for  him.  As  the  Indian 
put  his  head  out  from  the  cover  of  his  tree,  to  look 
for  his  object,  he  caught  McAfee's  ball  in  his  mouth, 
and  fell.     McAfee  reached  the  station  in  safety. 

James,  though  he  did  not  expose  himself  as  his 
brother  had  done,  was  fired  upon  by  five  Indians 
who  lay  in  ambush.  He  fled  to  a  tree  for  protec- 
tion.    Immediately  after  he  had  gained  one,  three  or 


196  LIFE  OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

four  aimed  at  him  from  the  other  side.  The  ball^ 
scattered  earth  upon  him,  as  they  struck  around  his 
feet,  but  he  remained  unharmed.  He  had  no  sooner 
entered  the  inclosure  of  the  station  in  safety,  than 
Indians  were  seen  approaching  in  all  directions. 
Their  accustomed  horrid  yells  preceded  a  general 
attack  upon  the  station.  Their  fire  was  returned 
with  spirit,  the  women  running  balls  as  fast  as  they 
were  required.  The  attack  continued  two  hours, 
when  the  Indians  withdrew. 

The  firing  had  aroused  the  neighborhood;  and 
soon  after  the  retreat  of  the  Indians,  Major  McGary 
appeared  with  forty  men.  It  was  determined  to 
pursue  the  Indians,  as  they  could  not  have  advanced 
far.  This  purpose  was  immediately  carried  into 
execution.  The  Indians  were  overtaken  and  com- 
pletely routed.  The  station  suffered  inconvenience 
from  the  loss  of  their  domestic  animals,  which  were 
all  killed  by  the  Indians,  previous  to  their  retreat. 
One  white  man  was  killed  and  another  died  of  his 
wounds  in  a  few  days.  This  was  the  last  attack 
upon  this  station  by  the  Indians,  although  it  remain- 
ed for  some  years  a  frontier  post. 

We  might  easily  swell  these  annals  to  volumes, 
by  entering  into  details  of  the  attack  of  Kincheloe's 
station,  and  its  defence  by  Colonel  Floyd;  the  ex- 
ploits of  Thomas  Randolph;  the  captivity  of  Mrs. 
Bland  and  Peake;  and  the  long  catalogue  of  recor- 
ded narratives  of  murders,  burnings,  assaults,  heroic 
defences,  escapes,  and  the  various  incidents  of  In- 
dian warfare  upon  the  incipient  settlements.  While 
their  barbarity  and  horror  chill  the  blood,  they  show 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  197 

US  what  sort  of  men  the  first  settlers  of  the  country 
were,  and  what  scenes  they  had  to  witness,  and 
what  events  to  meet,  before  they  prepared  for  us 
our  present  peace  and  abundance.  The  danger 
and  apprehension  of  their  condition  must  have  been 
such,  that  we  cannot  well  imagine  how  they  could 
proceed  to  the  operations  of  building  and  fencing, 
with  sufficient  composure  and  quietness  of  spirit,  to 
complete  the  slow  and  laborious  preliminaries  of 
founding  such  establishments,  as  they  have  transmit- 
ted to  their  children.  Men  they  must  have  been, 
who  could  go  firml  y  and  cheerfully  to  the  common 
occupations  of  agriculture,  with  their  lives  in  their 
hands,  and  under  the  constant  expectation  of  being 
greeted  from  the  thickets  and  cane-brakes  with  the 
rifle  bullet  and  the  Indian  yell.  Even  the  women 
were  heroes,  and  their  are  instances  in  abundance 
on  record,  where,  in  defence  of  their  children  and 
cabins,  they  conducted  with  an  undaunted  energy  of 
attack  or  defence,  which  would  throw  into  shade  the 
vaunted  bravery  in  the  bulletins  of  regular  battles. 

These  magnanimous  pioneers  seem  to  have  had 
a  presentiment  that  they  had  a  great  work  to  ac- 
complish— laying  the  foundations  of  a  state  in  the 
wilderness — a  work  from  which  they  were  to  be  de- 
terred, neither  by  hunger,  nor  toil,  nor  danger,  nor 
death.  For  tenderness  and  affection,  they  had 
hearts  of  flesh.  For  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of 
their  positions,  their  bosoms  were  of  iron.  Thet 
FEARED  God,  and  had  no  other  fear. 

17* 


198  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Disastrous  battle  near  tlie  Blue  Licks — General  Clarke's  expedition 
against  the  Miami  towns — Massacre  of  McClure's  family — The 
horrors  of  Indian  assaults  throughout  the  settlements — General 
Harraar's  expedition — Defeat  of  General  St.  Clair — Gen.  Wayne's 
victory,  and  a  final  peace  with  the  Indians. 

Here,  in  the  order  of  the  annals  of  the  country, 
would  be  the  place  to  present  the  famous  attack  of 
Bryant's  station,  which  we  have  anticipated  by  an 
anachronism,  and  given  already,  in  order  to  present 
the  reader  with  a  clear  view  of  a  station,  and  the 
peculiar  mode  of  attack  and  defence  in  these  border 
wars.  The  attack  upon  Bryant's  station  was  made 
by  the  largest  body  of  Indians  that  had  been  seen 
m  Kentucky,  the  whole  force  amounting  at  least  to 
six  hundred  men.  We  have  seen  that  they  did  not 
decamp  uatil  they  had  suffered  a  severe  loss  of  their 
warriors.  They  departed  with  so  much  precipita- 
tion as  to  have  left  their  tents  standing,  their  fires 
burning,  and  their  meat  roasting.  They  took  the 
road  to  the  lower  Blue  Licks. 

Colonel  Todd,  of  Lexington,  despatched  imme- 
diate intelligence  of  this  attack  to  Colonel  Trigg, 
near  Harrodsburgh,  and  Colonel  Boone,  who  had 
nov/  returned  with  his  family  from  North  Carolina 
to  Boonesborough.  These  men  were  prompt  in 
collecting  volunteers  in  their  vicinity.  Scarcely 
had  the  Indians  disappeared  from  Bryant's  station, 
before  a  hundred  and  sixty-six  men  were  assembled 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  199 

to  march  in  pursuit  of  nearly  triple  their  number  of 
Indians.  Besides  Colonels  Trigg,  Todd,  and  Boone, 
Majors  McGary  and  Ilarland,  from  the  vicinity  of 
Harrodsburgh,  had  a  part  in  this  command:  A  coun- 
cil was  held,  in  which,  after  considering  the  dispar- 
ty  of  numbers,  it  was  still  determined  to  pursue 
the  Indians.  Such  was  their  impetuosity,  that  they 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  wait  for  the  arrival  of 
Colonel  Logan,  who  was  known  to  be  collecting  a 
strong  party  to  join  them. 

The  march  was  immediately  commenced  upon 
their  trail.  They  had  not  proceeded  far  before  Co- 
lonel Boone,  experienced  in  the  habits  of  Indians 
and  the  indications  of  their  purposes,  announced 
that  he  discovered  marks  that  their  foe  was  making 
demonstrations  of  willingness  to  meet  them.  He 
observed  that  they  took  no  pains  to  conceal  their 
route,  but  carefully  took  measures  to  mislead  their 
pursuers  in  regard  to  their  number.  Their  first 
purpose  was  indicated  by  cutting  trees  on  their 
path — the  most  palpable  of  all  directions  as  to  their 
course.  The  other  was  equally  concealed  by  a  cau- 
tious concentration  of  their  camp,  and  by  the  files 
taking  particular  care  to  step  in  the  foot  prints  of 
their  file  leaders,  so  that  twenty  warriors  might  be 
numbered  from  the  foot-marks  only  as  one. 

Still  no  Indians  were  actually  seen,  until  the  par- 
ty arrived  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  Licking,  at 
the  point  of  the  Blue  Licks.  A  body  of  Indians 
was  here  discovered,  mounting  the  summit  of  an  op- 
posite hill,  moving  leisurely,  and  apparently  without 


200  LIFE  OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

hurry  or  alarm — retiring  slowly  from  sight,  as  on  a 
common  march. 

The  party  halted.  The  officers  assembled,  and 
a  general  consultation  took  place,  respecting  what 
was  to  be  done.  The  alternatives  were,  whether  it 
was  best  to  cross  the  Licking  at  the  hazard  of  an 
engagement  with  the  Indians;  or  to  wait  where  they 
were,  reconnoiter  the  country,  act  on  the  defensive, 
and  abide  the  coming  up  of  .Colonel  Logan  with  his 
force. 

Colonels  Todd  and  Trigg,  little  acquainted  with 
the  Indians,  were  desirous  to  be  guided  by  the  judg- 
ment of  Colonel  Boone.  His  opinion  being  called 
for,  he  gave  it  with  his  usual  clearness  and  circum- 
spection. As  regarded  the  number  of  the  enemy, 
his  judgment  was,  that  it  should  be  counted  from 
three  to  five  hundred.  From  the  careless  and  lei- 
surely manner  of  the  march  of  the  body,  they  had 
seen,  he  was  aware,  that  the  main  body  was  near, 
and  that  the  show  of  this  small  party  was  probably, 
with  a  view  to  draw  on  the  attack,  founded  upon 
an  entire  ignorance  of  their  numbers.  With  the 
localities  of  the  country  about  th<>  Licks,  from  his 
former  residence  there,  he  was  perfectly  acquaint- 
ed. The  river  forms,  by  its  curves,  an  irregular 
ellipsis,  embracing  the  great  ridge  and  buffalo  road 
leading  from  the  Licks.  Its  longest  line  of  bisec- 
tion leads  towards  Limestone,  and  is  terminated  by 
two  ravines  heading  together  in  a  point,  and  diver- 
ging thence  in  opposite  directions  to  the  river.  In 
his  view,  it  was  probable  that  the  Indians  had 
formed  an  ambuscade  behind  these   ravines,  in    a 


LIFE  OP   DANIEL   BOONE.  201 

position  as  advantageous  for  them  as  it  would  be 
dangerous  to  the  party,  if  they  continued  their 
march.  He  advised  that  the  party  sliould  divide; 
the  one  half  march  up  the  Licking  on  the  opposite 
side,  and  crossing  at  the  mouth  of  a  small  branch, 
called  Elk  creek,  fall  over  upon  the  eastern  curve 
of  the  ravine;  while  the  other  half  should  take  a 
position  favorable  for  yielding  them  prompt  co-ope- 
ration in  case  of  an  attack.  He  demorjstrated,  that 
in  this  way  the  advantage  of  position  might  be 
taken  from  the  enemy,  and  turned  in  their  favor. 
He  was  decided  and  pressing,  that  if  it  was  deter- 
mined to  attack  a  force  superior,  before  the  arrival 
of  Colonel  Logan,  they  ought  at  least  to  send  out 
spies  and  explore  the  country  before  they  marched 
the  main  body  over  the  river. 

This  wise  counsel  of  Colonel  Boone  was  perfectly 
accordant  with  the  views  of  Colonels  Todd  and 
Trigg,  and  of  most  of  the  persons  consulted  on  the 
occasion.  But  while  they  were  deliberating.  Ma- 
jor McGary,  patriotic,  no  doubt,  in  his  intentions, 
but  ardent,  rash,  hot-headed,  and  indocile  to  milita- 
ry rule,  guided  his  horse  into  the  edge  of  the 
river,  raised  the  war-whoop  in  Kentucky  style,  and 
exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  gay  confidence,  "All  those 
that  are  not  cowards  will  follow  me;  I  will  show 
them  where  the  Indians  are!"  Saying  this,  he 
spurred  his  horse  into  the  water.  One  and  another, 
under  the  impulse  of  such  an  appeal  to  their  cour- 
age, dashed  in  after  him.  The  council  was  thus 
broken  up  by  force.  A  part  caught  the  rash  spirit 
by  sympathy.     The   rest,  who  were   disposed   to 


201^  LIFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

listen  to  better  counsels,  were  borne  along,  and 
their  suggestions  drowned  in  the  general  clamor. 
All  counsel  and  command  were  at  an  end.  And  it 
is  thus  that  many  of  the  most  important  events  of 
history  have  been  determined. 

The  whole  party  crossed  the  river,  keeping 
straight  forward  in  the  beaten  buffalo  road.  Ad- 
vanced a  little,  parties  flanked  out  from  the  main 
body,  as  the  irregularity  and  unevenness  of  the 
ground  would  allow.  The  whole  body  moved  on 
in  reckless  precipitation  and  disorder,  over  a  sur- 
face covered  with  rocks,  laid  bare  by  the  trampling 
of  buffaloes,  and  the  washing  of  the  rain  of  ages. 
Their  course  led  them  in  front  of  the  high  ridge 
which  extends  for  some  distance  to  the  left  of  the 
road.  They  were  decoyed  on  in  the  direction  of 
one  of  the  ravines  of  which  we  have  spoken,  by  the 
reappearance  of  the  party  of  Indians  they  had  first 
seen. 

The  termination  of  this  ridge  sloped  off  in  a  de 
clivity  covered^  with  a  thick  forest  of  oaks.  The 
ravines  were  thick  set  on  their  banks  with  small 
timber,  or  encumbered  with  burnt  wood,  and  the 
whole  area  before  them  had  been  stripped  bare  of 
all  herbage  by  the  buffaloes  that  had  resorted  to 
the  Licks.  Clumps  of  soil  here  and  there  on  the  bare 
rock  supported  a  few  trees,  which  gave  the  whole 
of  this  spot  of  evil  omen  a  most  singular  appearance. 
The  advance  of  the  party  was  headed  by  McGary, 
Harland,  and  McBride.  A  party  of  Indians,  as 
Boone  had  predicted,  that  had  been  ambushed  in 
the  woods    here  met   them.     A  warm  and  bloody 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE.  203 

action  immediately  commenced,  and  the  rifles  on 
either  side  did  fatal  execution.  It  was  discovered 
in  a  moment  that  the  whole  line  of  the  ravine  con- 
cealed Indians,  who,  to  the  number  of  thrice  that 
of  their  foes,  rushed  upon  them.  Colonels  Todd 
and  Trigg,  whose  position  had  been  on  the  right, 
by  the  movement  in  crossing,  were  thrown  in  the 
rear.  They  fell  in  their  places,  and  the  rear  was 
turned.  Between  twenty  and  thirty  of  these  brave 
men  had  already  paid  the  forfeit  of  their  rashness, 
when  a  retreat  commenced  under  the  edge  of  the 
tomahawk,  and  the  whizzing  of  Indian  bullets. 
When  the  party  first  crossed  the  river  all  were 
mounted.  Many  had  dismounted  at  the  commence 
ment  of  the  action.  Others  engaged  on  horseback. 
On  the  retreat,  some  were  fortunate  enough  to  re- 
cover their  horses,  and  fled  on  horseback.  Others 
retreated  on  foot.  From  the  point  where  the  en- 
gagement commenced  to  the  Licking  river  was 
about  a  mile's  distance.  A  high  and  rugged  cliff 
environed  either  shore  of  the  river,  which  sloped  off 
to  a  plain  near  the  Licks.  The  ford  was  narrow, 
and  the  water  above  and  below  it  deep.  Some 
were  overtaken  on  the  way,  and  fell  under  the  tom- 
ahawk. But  the  greatest  slaughter  was  at  the  river. 
Some  were  slain  in  crossing,  and  some  on  either 
shore. 

A  singular  spectacle  was  here  presented  in  the 
case  of  a  man  by  the  name  of  Netherland,  who  had 
been  derided  for  his  timidity.  He  was  mounted 
on  a  fleet  and  powerful  horse,  the  back  of  which 
he  had  never  left  for  a  moment.     He  was  one  of 


204  LIFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE. 

the  first  to  recross  the  Licking.  Finding  himself 
safe  upon  the  opposite  shore,  a  sentiment  of  sympa- 
thy came  upon  him  as  he  looked  back  and  took  a 
survey  of  the  scene  of  murder  going  on  in  the  river 
and  on  its  shore.  Many  had  reached  the  river  in 
a  state  of  famtness  and  exhaustion,  and  the  Indians 
were  still  cutting  them  down.  Inspired  with  the 
feeling  of  a  commander,  he  cried  out  in  a  loud  and 
authoritative  voice,  "Haiti  Fire  on  the  Indians. 
Protect  the  men  in  the  river."  The  call  was  obey- 
ed. Ten  or  twelve  men  instantly  turned,  fired  on 
the  enemy,  and  checked  their  pursuit  for  a  moment, 
thus  enabling  some  of  the  exhausted  and  wounded 
fugitives  to  evade  the  tomahawk,  already  uplifted  to 
destroy  them.  The  brave  and  benevolent  Rey- 
nolds, whose  reply  to  Girty  has  been  reported,  re- 
linquished his  own  horse  to  Colonel  Robert  Patter- 
son, who  was  infirm  from  former  wounds,  and  was 
retreating  on  foot.  He  thus  enabled  that  veteran 
to  escape.  While  thus  signalizing  his  disinterested 
intrepidity,  he  fell  liimself  into  the  hands  of  the  In- 
dians. The  party  that  took  him  consisted  of  three. 
Two  whites  passed  him  on  their  retreat.  Two  of 
the  Indians  pursued,  leaving  him  under  the  guard  of 
the  third.  His  captor  stooped  to  tie  his  moccasin, 
and  he  sprang  away  from  him  and  escaped.  It  is 
supposed  that  one-fourth  of  the  men  engaged  in  this 
action  were  commissioned  officers.  The  whole 
number  engaged  was  one  hundred  and  seventy-six. 
Of  these,  sixty  were  slain,  and  eight  made  prison- 
ers. Among  the  most  distinguished  names  of  those 
jrho  fell,  were  those  of  Colonels  Todd  and  Trigg, 


UFE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE.  205 

Majors  Harland  and  Bulger,  Captains  Gordon  and 
McBride,  and  a  son  of  Colonel  Boone.  The  loss 
of  the  savages  has  never  been  ascertained.  It  could 
not  have  equalled  that  of  the  assailants,  though  some 
supposed  it  greater.  This  sanguinary  affair  took 
place  August  19,  1782. 

Colonel  Logan,  on  ariving  at  Bryant's   station, 
with  a  force  of  three  hundred  men,  found  the  troop* 
had  already  marched.     He  made  a  rapid  advance 
in  hopes  to  join  them  before  they  should  have  met 
with  the  Indians.     He  came  up  with  the  survivors, 
on  their  retreat  from  their  ill-fated  contest,  not  far 
from  Bryant's   station.     He  determined  to   pursue 
his  march  to  the  battle  ground  to  bury  the  dead,  if 
he  could  not  avenge   their  fall.      He  was  joined 
by  many  fiiends  of  the  killed  and   missing,  from 
Lexington  and  Bryant's  station.     They  reached  the 
battle  ground  on  the  25th.     It  presented  a  heart- 
rending spectacle.     Where  so  lately  had  arisen  the 
shouts  of  the  robust  and  intrepid  woodsmen,  and  the 
sharp  yell  of  the  savages,  as  they  closed  in  the  mur- 
derous contest,  the   silence  of  the  wide  forest  was 
now  unbroken,  except  by  birds  of  prey,   as  they 
screamed  and  sailed  ovor  the  carnage.     The  heat 
was  so  excessive,  and  the  bodies  were  so  changed 
by  it  and  the  hideous  gashes  and  mangling  of  the 
Indian  tomahawk  and  knife,  that  friends  could  no 
longer  recognize  their  dearest  relatives.     They  per- 
formed the  sad  rights  of  sepulture  as  they  might, 
upon  the  rocky  ground. 

The  Indian  forces  that  had  fought  at  the  Blue 
Licks,  in  the  exultation  of  victory  and  revenge,  re- 

18 


206  LIFE  OF   DANIEL   BOONE. 

turned  homeward  with  their  scalps.  Those  from 
the  north — and  they  constituted  the  greater  num- 
bers— returned  quietly.  The  western  bands  took 
their  route  through  Jeffercon  county,  in  hopes  to 
add  more  scalps  to  the  number  of  their  trophies. 
Colonel  Floyd  led  out  a  force  to  protect  the  coun- 
try. They  marched  through  the  region  on  Salt 
river,  and  saw  no  traces  of  Indians.  They  disper 
sed  on  their  return.  The  greater  number  of  them 
reached  their  station,  and  laid  down,  fatigued  and 
exhausted,  without  any  precaution  against  a  foe. 
The  Indians  came  upon  them  in  this  predicament 
in  the  night,  and  killed  several  women  and  children. 
A  few  escaped  under  the  cover  of  the  darkness.  A 
woman,  taken  prisoner  that  night,  escaped  from  her 
savage  captors  by  throwing  herself  into  the  bushes, 
while  they  passed  on.  She  wandered  about  the 
woods  eighteen  days,  subsisting  only  on  wild  fruits, 
and  was  then  found  and  carried  to  Lynn's  station. 
She  survived  the  extreme  state  of  exhaustion  in 
which  she  was  discovered.  Another  woman,  taken 
with  four  children,  at  the  same  time,  was  carried  to 
Detroit. 

The  terrible  blow  which  the  savages  had  struck 
tit  the  Blue  Licks,  excited  a  general  and  immediate 
purpose  of  retaliation  through  Kentucky.  General 
Clarke  was  appointed  commander-in-chief,  and  Col- 
onel Logan  next  under  him  in  command  of  the  ex- 
pedition, to  be  raised  for  that  purpose.  The  forces 
were  to  rendezvous  at  Licking.  The  last  of  Sep- 
tember, 1782,  General  Clarke,  with  one  thousand 
men,  marched  from  the  present  site  of  Cincinnati, 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONC.  207 

for  the  Indian  towns  on  the  Miami.  They  fell  in 
on  their  route  with  the  camp  of  Simon  Girty,  who 
would  have  been  completely  surprised  with  his  In- 
dians, had  not  a  straggling  savage  espied  the  ad- 
vance, and  reported  it  to  them  just  in  season  to  en- 
able them  to  scatter  in  every 'direction.  They  soon 
spread  the  intelligence  that  an  army  from  Kentucky 
was  marching  upon  their  towns. 

As  the  army  approached  the  towns  on  their  route, 
they  found  that  the  inhabitants  had  evacuated  them, 
and  fled  into  the  woods.  All  the  cabins  at  Chilli 
cothe,  Piqua,  and  WilHs  were  burned.  Some 
skirmishing  took  place,  however,  in  which  five  In- 
dians were  killed,  and  seven  made  prisoners,  with- 
out any  loss  to  the  Kentuckians,  save  the  wounding 
of  one  man,  which  afterwards  proved  mortal.  One 
distinguished  Indian  surrendered  himself,  and  was 
afterwards  inhumanly  murdered  by  one  of  the  troops, 
to  the  deep  regret  and  mortification  of  General 
Clarke. 

In  October,  1785,  Mr.  McClure  and  family,  in 
company  with  a  number  of  other  famihes,  were 
assailed  on  Skegg's  creek.  Six  of  the  family  were 
killed,  and  Mrs.  McClure,  a  child,  and  a  number  of 
other  persons  made  prisoners.  The  attack  took 
place  in  the  night.  The  circumstances  of  the  cap- 
ture of  Mrs.  McClure,  fitrnish  an  affecting  incident 
illustrating  the  invincible  force  of  natural  tender- 
nesss.  She  had  concealed  herself,  with  her  four 
children,  in  the  brush  of  a  thicket,  which,  together 
with  the  darkness,  screened  her  from  observation. 
Had  she  chosen  to  have  left  her  infant  behind,  she 


208  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

might  have  escaped.  But  she  grasped  it,  and  held 
it  to  her  bosom,  although  aware  that  its  shrieks 
would  betray  their  covert.  The  Indians,  guided  to 
the  spot  by  its  cries,  killed  the  three  larger  children, 
and  took  her  and  her  infant  captives.  The  unfor- 
tunate and  bereaved  mother  was  obliged  to  accom- 
pany their  march  on  an  untamed  and  unbroken 
horse. 

Intelligence  of  these  massacres  and  cruelties  cir- 
culated rapidly.  Captain  Whitley  immediately 
collected  twenty-one  men  from  the  adjoining  sta 
tions,  overtook,  and  killed  two  of  these  savages,  re- 
took the  desolate  mother,  her  babe,  and  a  negro 
servant,  and  the  scalps  of  the  six  persons  whom 
they  had  killed.  Ten  days  afterwards,  another 
party  of  immigrants,  led  by  Mr.  Moore,  were  at 
tacked,  and  nine  of  their  number  killed.  Captain 
Whitley  pursued  the  perpetrators  of  this  bloody  act, 
with  thirty  men.  On  the  sixth  day  of  pursuit 
through  the  wilderness,  he  came  up  with  twenty  In 
dians,  clad  in  the  dresses  of  those  whom  they  had 
slain.  They  dismounted  and  dispersed  in  the  woods 
though  not  until  three  of  them  were  killed.  The 
pursuers  recovered  eight  scalps,  and  all  the  plundei 
which  the  Indians  had  collected  at  the  late  massacre. 

An  expedition  of  General  Clarke,  with  a  thou- 
sand men,  against  the  Wabash  Indians,  failed  in 
consequence  of  the  impatience  and  discouragement 
of  his  men  from  want  of  proWsions.  Colonel  Logan 
was  more  successful  in  an  expedition  against  the 
Shawnese  Indians  on  the  Scioto.     He  surprised  one 


MFE   OF  DANIEL  BOONE.  209 

of  the  towns,  and  killed  a  number  of  the  warriors, 
and  took  some  prisoners. 

In  October,  1785,  the  General  Government  con- 
voked a  meeting  of  all  the  Lake  and  Ohio  tribes 
to  meet  at  the  mouth  of  the  Great  Miami.  The  In- 
dians met  the  summons  with  a  moody  indifference 
and  neglect,  alleging  the  continued  aggressions  of 
the  Kentuckians  as  a  reason  for  refusing  to  comply 
with  the  summons. 

The  horrors  of  Indian  assault  were  occasionally 
felt  in  every  settlement.  We  select  one  narrative 
in  detail,  to  convey  an  idea  of  Indian  hostility  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  met 
on  the  other.  A  family  lived  on  Coope's  run,  in 
Bourbon  county,  consisting  of  a  mother,  two  sons  of 
a  mature  age,  a  widowed  daughter,  with  an  infant 
in  her  arms,  two  grown  daughters,  and  a  daughter 
of  ten  years.  The  house  was  a  double  cabin.  The 
two  grown  daughters  and  the  smaller  girl  were  in 
one  division,  and  the  remainder  of  the  family  in  the 
other.  At  evening  twilight,  a  knocking  was  heard 
at  the  door  of  the  latter  division,  asking  in  good 
English,  and  the  customary  western  phrase,  "Who 
keeps  house?"  As  the  sons  went  to  open  the  door, 
the  mother  forbade  them,  affirming  that  the  persons 
claiming  admittance  were  Indians.  The  young 
men  sprang  to  their  guns.  The  Indians,  finding 
themselves  refused  admittance  at  that  door,  made 
an  effort  at  the  opposite  one.  That  door  they  soon 
beat  open  with  a  rail,  and  endeavored  to  take  the 
three  girls  prisoners.  The  little  girl  sprang  away, 
and  might  have  escaped  from  them  in  the  darkness 

18* 


310  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

and  the  woods.  But  the  forlorn  child,  under  the 
natural  impulse  of  instinct,  ran  for  the  other  door 
and  cried  for  help.  The  brothers  within,  it  may  be 
supposed,  would  wish  to  go  forth  and  protect  the 
feeble  and  terrified  wailer.  The  mother,  taking  a 
broader  view  of  expedience  and  dutj,  forbade  them. 
They  soon  hushed  the  cries  of  the  distracted  child 
by  the  merciless  tomahawk.  While  a  part  of  the 
Indians  were  engaged  in  murdering  this  child,  and 
another  in  confining  one  of  the  grown  girls  that 
they  had  made  captive,  the  third  heroically  defend- 
ed herself  with  a  knife,  which  she  was  using  at  a 
loom  at  the  moment  of  attack.  The  intrepidity  she 
put  forth  was  unavailing.  She  killed  one  Indian, 
and  was  herself  killed  by  another.  The  Indians, 
meanwhile,  having  obtained  possession  of  one  half 
the  house,  fired  it.  The  persons  shut  up  in  the 
other  half  had  now  no  other  alternative  than  to  be 
consumed  in  the  flames  rapidly  spreading  towards 
them,  or  to  go  forth  and  expose  themselves  to  the 
murderous  tomahawks,  that  had  already  laid  three 
of  the  family  in  their  blood.  The  Indians  stationed 
themselves  in  the  dark  angles  of  the  fence,  where, 
by  the  bright  glare  of  the  flames,  they  could  see 
every  thing,  and  yet  remain  themselves  unseen. 
Here  they  could  make  a  sure  mark  of  all  that  should 
escape  from  within.  One  of  the  sons  took  charge 
of  his  aged  and  infirm  mother,  and  the  other  of  his 
widowed  sister  and  her  infant.  The  brothers  emer- 
ged from  the  burning  ruins,  separated,  and  endeav- 
ored to  spring  over  the  fence.  The  mother  was  shot 
dead  as  her  son   was  piously  aiding  her  over  the 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  211 

fence.  The  other  brother  was  killed  as  he  was 
gallantly  defending  his  sister.  The  widowed  sister, 
her  infant,  and  one  of  the  brothers  escaped  the 
massacre,  and  alarmed  the  settlement.  Thirty  men, 
commanded  by  Colonel  Edwards,  arrived  next 
day  to  witness  the  appalling  spectacle  presented 
around  the  smoking  ruins  of  this  cabin.  Conside- 
rable snow  had  fallen,  and  the  Indians  were  obliged 
to  leave  a  trail,  which  easily  indicated  their  path. 
In  the  evening  of  that  day,  they  came  upon  the  ex- 
piring body  of  the  young  woman,  apparently  mur- 
dered but  a  few  moments  before  their  arrival.  The 
Indians  had  been  premonished  of  their  pursuit  by 
the  barking  of  a  dog  that  followed  them.  They 
overtook  and  killed  two  of  the  Indians  that  had 
staid  behind,  apparently  as  voluntary  victims  to  se- 
cure the  retreat  of  the  rest. 

To  prevent  immigrants  from  reaching  the  coun- 
try, the  Indians  infested  the  Ohio  river,  and  con- 
cealed themselves  in  small  parties  at  different  points 
from  Pittsburgh  to  Louisville,  where  they  laid  in 
ambush  and  fired  upon  the  boats  as  they  passed. 
They  frequently  attempted  by  false  signals  to  decoy 
the  boats  ashore,  and  in  several  instances  succeeded 
by  these  artifices  in  capturing  and  murdering  whole 
families,  and  plundering  them  of  their  effects.  They 
even  armed  and  manned  some  of  the  boats  and 
scows  they  had  taken,  and  used  them  as  a  kind  of 
floating  battery,  by  means  of  which  they  killed 
and  captured  many  persons  approaching  the  settle- 
ments. 

The  last  boac  which  brought  immigrants  to  the 


212  i,iFE   OF   DANIEL    BOONE. 

country  down  the  Ohio,  that  was  known  to  have 
been  attacked  bj  the  Indians,  was  assaulted  in  the 
spring  of  1791.  This  circumstance  gives  it  a  claim 
to  be  mentioned  in  this  place.  It  was  commanded 
by  Captain  Hubbel,  and  brought  immigrants  from 
Vermont.  The  whole  number  of  men,  women,  and 
children  amounted  to  twenty  persons.  These  per- 
sons had  been  forewarned  by  various  circumstances 
that  they  noted,  that  hostile  Indians  were  along  the 
shore  waiting  to  attack  them.  They  came  up  with 
other  boats  descending  the  river,  and  bound  in  the 
same  direction  with  themselves.  They  endeavored 
ineffectually  to  persuade  the  passengers  to  join  them, 
that  they  might  descend  in  the  strength  of  numbers 
and  union.  They  continued  to  move  down  the  river 
alone.  The  first  attempt  upon  them  was  a  custom- 
ary Indian  stratagem.  A  person,  affecting  to  be 
a  white  man,  hailed  them,  and  requested  them  to 
lie  by,  that  he  might  come  on  board.  Finding  that 
the  boat's  crew  were  not  to  be  allured  to  the  shore 
by  this  artifice,  the  Indians  put  off  from  the  shore 
in  three  canoes,  and  attacked  the  boat.  Never  was 
a  contest  of  this  sort  maintained  with  more  despe- 
rate bravery.  The  Indians  attempted  to  board  the 
boat,  and  the  inmates  made  use  of  all  arms  of  an- 
noyance and  defence.  Captain  Hubbel,  although 
he  had  been  severely  wounded  in  two  places,  and 
had  the  cock  of  his  gun  shot  off  by  an  Indian  fire, 
still  continued  to  discharge  his  mutilated  gun  by  a 
fire-brand.  After  a  long  and  desperate  conflict,  in 
which  all  the  passengers  capable  of  defence  but 
four,  had  been  wounded,  the  Indians  paddled  off 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOOIVE.  213 

their  canoes  to  attack  the  boats  left  behind.  They 
were  successful  against  the  first  boat  they  assailed. 
The  boat  yielded  to  them  without  opposition.  They 
killed  the  Captain  and  a  boy,  and  took  the  women 
on  board  prisoners.  Making  a  screen  of  these  un- 
fortunate women,  by  exposing  them  to  the  fire  of 
Captain  Hubbel's  boat,  they  returned  to  the  assault. 
It  imposed  upon  him  the  painful  alternative,  either 
to  yield  to  the  Indians,  or  to  fire  into  their  canoes 
at  the  hazard  of  killing  the  women  of  their  own 
people.  But  the  intrepid  Captain  remarked,  that  if 
these  women  escaped  their  fire,  it  would  probably 
be  to  sufifer  a  more  terrible  death  from  the  savages. 
He  determined  to  keep  up  his  fire,  even  on  these 
hard  conditions;  and  the  savages  were  beaten  off  a 
Becond  time.  In  the  course  of  the  engagement,  the 
boat,  left  to  itself,  had  floated  with  the  current  near 
the  north  shore,  where  four  or  five  hundred  Indians 
were  collected,  who  poured  a  shower  of  balls  upon 
the  boat.  All  the  inmates  could  do,  was  to  avoid 
exposure  as  much  as  possible,  and  exercise  their  pa- 
tience until  the  boat  should  float  past  the  Indian 
fire.  One  of  the  inmates  of  the  boat,  seeing,  as  it 
slowly  drifted  on,  a  fine  chance  for  a  shot  at  an  In- 
dian, although  warned  against  it,  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  of  taking  his  chance.  He  raised  his 
head  to  take  aim,  and  was  instantly  shot  dead.  When 
the  boat  had  drifted  beyond  the  reach  of  the  Indian 
fire,  but  two  of  the  nine  fighting  men  on  board  were 
found  unhurt.  Two  were  killed,  and  two  mortally 
wounded.  The  noble  courage  of  a  boy  on  board 
deserves  to  be  recorded.     When  the  boat  was  now 


214  MFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

in  a  place  of  safety,  he  requested  his  friends  to  ex- 
tract a  ball  that  had  lodged  in  the  skin  of  his  fore- 
head. When  this  ball  had  been  extracted,  he  re- 
quested them  to  take  out  a  piece  of  bone  that  had 
been  fractured  in  his  elbow  by  another  shot.  When 
asked  by  his  mother  why  he  had  not  complained  or 
made  known  his  suffering  during  the  engagement,  he 
coolly  replied,intimating  that  there  was  noise  enough 
without  his,  that  the  Captain  had  ordered  the  people 
to  make  no  noise. 

All  attempts  of  the  General  Government  to  pa- 
cify the  Indians,  having  proved  ineffectual,  an  expe- 
dition was  planned  against  the  hostile  tribes  north- 
west of  the  Ohio.  The  object  was  to  bring  the 
Indians  to  a  general  engagement;  or,  if  that  might 
not  be,  to  destroy  their  establishments  on  the  wa^ 
tors  of  the  Scioto  and  the  Wabash.  General  Har- 
mar  was  appointed  to  the  command  of  this  expe- 
dition. Major  Hamtranck,  with  a  detachment,  was 
to  make  a  diversion  in  his  favor  up  the  Wabash. 

On  the  13th  of  September,  1791,  General  Har- 
mar  marched  from  Fort  Washington,  the  present 
site  of  Cincinnati,  with  three  hundred  and  twenty 
regulars,  and  effected  a  junction  with  the  militia  of 
Pennsylvania  and  Kentucky,  which  had  advanced 
twenty-five  miles  in  front.  The  whole  force  amount- 
ed to  one  thousand  four  hundred  and  fifty-three  men. 
Col.  Hardin,  who  commanded  the  Kentucky  militia, 
was  detached  with  six  bundled  men,  chiefly  militia, 
to  reconnoiter.  On  his  approach  to  the  Indian  set- 
tlements, the  Indians  set  fire  to  their  villages  and  fled. 
In  order,  if  possible,  to  overtake  them,  he  was  de 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  215 

tached  with  a  smaller  force,  that  could  be  moved 
more  rapidly.  It  consisted  of  two  hundred  and  ten 
men.  A  small  party  of  Indians  met  and  attacked 
them;  and  the  greater  part  of  the  militia  behaved 
badly, — leaving  a  few  brave  men,  who  would  not  fly, 
to  their  fate.  Twenty-three  of  the  party  fell,  and  se- 
ven only  made  their  escape  and  rejoined  the  army. 
Notwithstanding  this  check,  the  army  succeeded  so 
far  as  to  reduce  the  remaining  towns  to  ashes,  and 
destroy  their  provisions. 

On  their  return  to  Fort  Washington,  Gen.  Har- 
mar  was  desirous  of  wiping  off,  in  another  action,  tha 
disgrace  which  public  opinion  had  impressed  upon 
his  arms.  He  halted  eight  miles  from  Chillicothe, 
and  late  at  night  detached  Col.  Hardin,  with  orders 
to  find  the  enemy,  and  bring  them  to  an  engage- 
ment. Early  in  the  morning  this  detachment  reached 
the  enemy,  and  a  severe  engagement  ensued.  The 
savages  fought  with  desperation.  Some  of  the  Ameri- 
can troops  shrunk;  but  the  oflScers  conducted  with 
great  gallantry.  Most  of  them  fell,  bravely  discharg- 
ing their  duty.  More  than  fifty  regulars  and  one 
hundred  militia,  including  the  brave  officers,  Fon- 
taine, Willys,  and  Frothingham,  vrere  slain. 

Harmar,  in  his  official  account  of  this  affair,  claim- 
ed the  victory,  although  the  Americans  seem  clearly 
to  have  had  the  worst  of  it.  At  his  request,  he  was 
tried  by  a  court  martial,  and  honorably  acquitted. 
The  enemy  had  suffered  so  severely,  that  they 
allowed  him  to  return  unmolested  toj  Fort  Wash- 
ington. 

The  terrors  and  the  annoyance  of  Indian  hostili* 


216  LIFE   OP   DANIEL   BOONE. 

ties  still  hung  over  the  western  settlements.     The 
call  was  loud  and  general  from  the  frontiers,  ior 
ample    and    efficient  protection.     Congress  placed 
the  means  in  the  hands  of  the  executive.     Major 
General  Arthur  St.  Clair  was  appointed  comman- 
der- in-  chief  of  the  forces  to  be  employed  in  the 
meditated  expedition.     The  objects  of  it  were,  to 
destroy  the  Indian  settlements  between  the  Miam- 
ies;  to  expel  them  from  the  country;  and  establish 
a  chain  of  posts  which  should  prevent  their  return 
during  the  war.     This  army  was  late  in  assembhng 
in  the  vicinity  of  Fort  Washington.     They  marched 
directly  towards  the  chief  estabUshments  of  the  en 
emy,  building  and  garrisoning  in  their  way  the  two- 
intermediate  forts,  Hamilton  and  Jefiferson.     After 
thfe  detachments  had  been  made  for  these   garri- 
sons, the  effective  force  that  remained  amounted  to 
Bomething  less  than  two  thousand  men.     To  open  a 
road  for  their  march,  was  a  slow  and  tedious  busi- 
ness.    Small  parties  of  Indians  were  often  seen  hov- 
ering  about   their  march;   and  some  unimportant 
skirmishes  took   place.     As  the  army  approached 
the  enemy's  country,  sixty  of  the  militia  deserted  in 
a  body.     To  prevent  the  influence  of  such  an  ex 
ample.   Major   Hamtranck   was    detached  with   a 
regiment  in  pursuit   of  the  deserters.     The   army 
now  consisting  of  one  thousand  four  hundred  men 
continued  its  march.     On  the  third  of  November 
1792,  it  encamped  fifteen  miles  south  of  the  Miami 
villages.      Having  been  rejoined  by  Major  Ham 
tranck.  General  St.  Clair  proposed  to  march  imme 
diately  against  them. 


ITFE   OF   DANIEL   BOONK.  217 

Half  an  hour  before  sunrise,  the  mihtia  was  at- 
tacked by  the  savages,  and  fled  in  the  utmost  confu- 
Bion.  Thej  burst  through  the  formed  line  of  the 
regulars  into  the  camp.  Great  efforts  were  made 
by  the  officers  to  restore  order;  but  not  with  the 
desired  success.  The  Indians  pressed  upon  the 
heels  of  the  flying  militia,  and  engaged  General 
Butler  with  great  intrepidity.  The  action  became 
warm  and  general;  and  the  fire  of  the  assailants, 
passing  round  both  flanks  of  the  first  line,  in  a  few 
minutes  was  poured  with  equal  fury  upon  the  rear. 
The  artillerists  in  the  centre  were  mowed  down, 
and  the  fire  was  the  more  galling,  as  it  was  directed 
hy  an  invisible  enemy,  crouching  on  the  ground,  or 
concealed  behind  trees.  In  this  manner  they  ad- 
vanced towards  the  very  mouths  of  the  cannon;  and 
fought  with  the  infuriated  fierceness  with  which 
success  always  animates  savages.  Some  of  the  sol- 
diers exhibited  military  fearlessness,  and  fought 
with  great  bravery.  Others  were  timid  and  dispo- 
sed to  fly.  With  a  self-devotion  whi<:h  the  occa- 
sion required,  the  officers  generally  exposed  them- 
selves to  the  hottest  of  the  contest,  and  fell  in 
great  numbers,  in  desperate  efforts  to  restore  the 
bj-ttle. 

The   commanding  general,  though  he  had   been 

fur  some  time  enfeebled  with  severe  disease,  acted 

with    personal   bravery,  and   delivered   hi«   order? 

witli  judgment  and  self-possession.     A  charge  was 

made  upon  the  savages  with  the  bayonet:  and  they 

were  driven  from  their   covert  with  some  loss,  a 

distance  of  four  hundred  yards.     But  as  soon  as  the 

19 


218  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE, 

charge  was  suspended,  they  returned  to  the  attack. 
General  Butler  was  mortallj  wounded ;  the  left  of 
the  right  wing  broken,  and  the  artillerists  killed 
almost  to  a  man.  The  guns  were  seized  and  the 
camp  penetrated  by  the  enemy.  A  desperate 
charge  was  headed  by  Colonel  Butler,  although  he 
was  severely  wounded,  and  the  Indians  were  again 
driven  from  the  camp,  and  the  artillery  recovered. 
Several  charges  were  repeated  with  partial  success. 
The  enemy  only  retreated,  to  return  to  the  charge, 
flushed  with  new  ardor.  The  ranks  of  the  troops 
were  broken,  and  the  men  pressed  together  in 
crowds,  and  were  shot  down  without  resistance.  A 
retreat  was  all  that  remained,  to  save  the  remnant 
of  the  army.  Colonel  Darke  was  ordered  to  charge 
a  body  of  savages  that  intercepted  their  retreat. 
Major  Clark,  with  his  battalion,  was  directed  to 
cover  the  rear.  These  orders  were  carried  inte 
effect,  and  a  most  disorderly  retreat  commenced. 
A  pursuit  was  kept  up  four  miles,  when,  fortunately 
for  the  surviving  Americans,  the  natural  greediness 
of  the  savage  appetite  for  plunder,  called  back  the 
victorious  Indians  to  the  camp,  to  divide  the  spoils. 
The  routed  troops  continued  their  flight  to  fort  Jef- 
ferson, throwing  away  their  arms  on  the  road.  The 
wounded  were  left  here,  and  the  army  retired  upon 
fort  Washington. 

In  this  fatal  battle,  fell  thirty-eight  commissioned 
ofiicers,  and  five  hundred  and  ninety-three  non-com- 
missioned officers  and  privates.  Twenty-one  com- 
missioned ofiicers,  many  of  whom  afterwards  died  of 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOOxNE.  219 

their  wounds,  and  two  hundred  and  forty-two  non- 
commissioned officers  and  privates  were  wounded. 

The  savage  force,  in  this  fatal  engagement,  waa 
led  by  a  Mississago  chief,  who  had  been  trained  to 
war  under  the  British,  during  the  revolution.  So 
superior  was  his  knowledge  of  tactics,  that  the  In- 
dian chiefs,  though  extremely  jealous  of  him,  yielded 
the  entire  command  to  him;  and  he  arranged  and 
fought  the  battle  with  great  combination  of  military 
skill.  Their  force  amounted  to  four  thousand ;  and 
they  stated  the  Americans  killed,  at  six  hundred  and 
twenty,  and  their  own  at  sixty-five;  but  it  was  un- 
doubtedly much  greater.  They  took  seven  pieces  of 
cannon  and  two  hundred  oxen,  and  many  horses. 
The  chief,  at  the  close  of  the  battle,  bade  the  In- 
dians forbear  the  pursuit  of  the  Americans,  as  he 
said  they  had  killed  enough. 

General  Scott,  with  one  thousand  mounted  volun- 
teers from  Kentucky,  soon  after  marched  against  a 
party  of  the  victors,  at  St.  Clair's  fatal  field.  He 
found  the  Indians  rioting  in  their  plunder,  riding  the 
oxen  in  the  glee  of  triumph,  and  acting  as  if  the 
whole  body  was  intoxicated.  General  Scott  imme- 
diately attacked  them.  The  contest  was  short  but 
decisive.  The  Indians  had  two  hundred  killed  on 
the  spot.  The  cannon  and  miUtary  stores  remain- 
ing, were  retaken,  and  the  savages  completely  rout- 
ed.   The  loss  of  the  Kentuckians  was  inconsiderable. 

The  reputation  of  the  government  was  now  com- 
mitted in  the  fortunes  of  the  war.  Three  additional 
regiments  were  directed  to  be  raised.  On  the  mo- 
tion in  congress  for  raising  tliese  regiments,  there 


220  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

was  an  animated,  and  even  a  bitter  debate.  It  was 
urged  on  one  hand,  that  the  expense  of  such  a  force 
would  involve  the  necessity  of  severe  taxation;  that 
too  much  power  was  thrown  into  the  hands  of  the 
president;  that  the  war  had  been  badly  managed, 
and  ought  to  have  been  entrusted  to  the  militia  of 
the  west,  under  their  own  officers;  and  with  more 
force  they  urged  that  no  success  could  be  of  any 
avail,  so  long  as  the  British  held  those  posts  within 
our  acknowledged  limits,  from  which  the  savages 
were  supplied  with  protection,  shelter,  arms,  advice, 
and  instigation  to  the  war. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  justice  of  the  cause,  as  a 
war  of  defence,  and  not  of  conquest,  was  unques- 
tionable. It  was  proved,  that  between  1783  and 
1790,  no  less  than  one  thousand  five  hundred  peo- 
ple of  Kentucky  had  been  massacred  by  the  sava- 
ges, or  dragged  into  a  horrid  captivity;  and  that  the 
frontiers  of  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia  had  suffered 
a  loss  not  much  less.  It  was  proved  that  every  el- 
fort  had  been  made  to  pacify  the  savages  without 
effect.  They  showed  that  in  1790,  when  a  treaty 
was  proposed  to  the  savages  at  the  Miami,  they  first 
refused  to  treat,  and  then  asked  thirty  days  for  deli- 
beration. It  was  granted.  In  the  interim,  they 
stated  that  not  less  than  one  hundred  and  twenty 
persons  had  been  killed  and  captured,  and  several 
prisoners  roasted  alive;  at  the  term  of  which  hor 
rors,  they  refused  any  answer  at  all  to  the  proposi 
tion  to  treat.  Various  other  remarks  were  made  in 
defence  of  the  bill.  It  tried  the  strength  of  parties 
in  congress,  and  was  finally  carried. 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  221 

General  St.  Clair  resigned,  and  Major  General 
Anthony  Wayne  was  appointed  to  succeed  him. 
This  officer  commanded  the  confidence  of  the  wes- 
tern people,  who  confided  in  that  reckless  bravery, 
which  had  long  before  procured  him  the  appellation 
of  "Mad  Anthony."  There  was  a  powerful  party 
who  still  aflfected  to  consider  this  war  unnecessary , 
and  every  impediment  was  placed  in  the  way  of  its 
success,  which  that  party  could  devise.  To  prove  to 
them  that  the  government  was  still  disposed  to  peace, 
two  excellent  officers  and  valuable  men,  Col.  Har- 
din, and  Major  Truman,  were  severally  despatched 
with  propositions  of  peace.  They  were  both  mur- 
dered by  the  savages.  These  unsuccessful  attempts 
at  negotiation,  and  the  difficulties  and  delays  natu- 
rally incident  to  the  preparation  of  such  a  force,  to- 
gether with  the  attempts  that  had  been  made  in  con- 
gress, to  render  the  war  unpopular,  had  worn  away 
60  much  time  that  the  season  for  operations  for  the 
year  had  almost  elapsed.  But  as  soon  as  the  nego- 
tiations had  wholly  failed,  the  campaign  was  opened 
with  as  much  vigor  as  the  nature  of  the  case  would 
admit.  The  general  was  able,  however,  to  do  no 
more  this  autumn,  than  to  advance  into  the  forest 
towards  the  country  of  the  savages,  six  miles  in  ad- 
vance of  fort  Jefferson.  He  took  possession  of  the 
ground  on  which  the  fatal  defeat  of  St.  Clair  had 
taken  place,  in  1792.  He  here  erected  a  fortifica- 
tion, with  the  appropriate  name  of  Fort  Recovery. 
His  principal  camp  was  called  Greenville. 

In   Kentucky,    meanwhile,   many  of  the  people 

clamored  against  these  measures,  and  loudly  insist- 

19^ 


222  LIFE    or    D\?;iEL    KOONl!:, 

ed  that  the  war  ought  to  be  caiTied  oi.  Dy  militia, 
to  be  commanded  by  an  oliicer  taken  from  their 
state.  It  was  beUeved.  too,  by  the  executive,  that 
the  British  government,  by  retaining  their  posts 
within  our  limits,  and  by  various  other  measures,  at 
least  countenanced  the  Indians  in  their  hostilities. 
That  government  took  a  more  decisive  measure 
early  in  the  spring.  A  British  detachment  from 
Detroit,  advanced  near  fifty  miles  south  of  that 
place,  and  fortified  themselves  on  the  Miami  of  the 
lakes.  In  one  of  the  numerous  skirmishes  which 
took  place  between  the  savages  and  the  advance  of 
General  Wayne,  it  was  affirmed,  that  the  British 
were  mingled  with  the  Indians. 

On  the  8th  of  August,  1794,  General  Wayne 
reached  the  confluence  of  the  Au  Glaize,  and  the 
Miami  of  the  lakes.  The  richest  and  most  exten- 
sive settlements  of  the  western  Indians  were  at  this 
place.  It  was  distant  only  about  thirty  miles  from 
the  post  on  the  Miami,  which  the  British  had  re- 
cently occupied.  The  whole  strength  of  the  ene- 
my, amounting  to  nearly  two  thousand  warriors, 
was  collected  in  the  vicinity  of  that  post.  The 
regulars  of  General  Wayne  were  not  much  inferior 
in  numbers.  A  reinforcement  of  one  thousand  one 
hundred  mounted  Kentucky  militia,  commanded  by 
General  Scott,  gave  a  decided  superiority  to  the 
American  force.  The  general  was  well  aware  that 
the  enemy  were  ready  to  give  him  battle,  and  he 
ardently  desired  it.  But  in  pursuance  of  the  set- 
tled policy  of  the  United  States,  another  elTort  was 
made  for  the  attainment  of  peace,  without  the  shed- 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 


2^23 


ding  of  blood.  The  savages  were  exhorted  by 
those  who  were  sent  to  them,  no  longer  to  follow 
the  counsels  of  the  bad  men  at  the  foot  of  the  Ra- 
pids, who  urged  them  on  to  the  war,  but  had  nei- 
ther the  power  nor  the  inclination  to  protect  them; 
that  to  Usten  to  the  propositions  of  the  government 
of  the  United  States,  would  restore  them  to  their 
homes,  and  rescue  them  from  famine.  To  these 
propositions  they  returned  only  an  evasive  answer. 

On   the  20th  of  August,  the  army  of  General 
Wayne  marched  in  columns.     A  select  battalion, 
under  Major  Price,  moved  as  a  reconnoitering  force 
m  front.     After  marching  five  miles,  he  received  so 
heavy  a  fire  from  the  savages,  concealed  as  usual, 
that  he  was  compelled  to   retreat.     The  savages 
had    chosen    their    ground  with    great    judgment 
Thev  had  moved  into  a  thick  wood,  in  advance  of 
the  British  works,  and  had  taken  a  position  behind 
fallen  timber,  prostrated  by  a  tornado.     This  ren- 
dered  their  position  almost  inaccessible  to  horse. 
They  were  formed  in  three  regular  lines,  according 
to  Indian  custom,   very  much  extended  in  front. 
Their  first  effort  was  to  turn  the  left  flank  of  th« 
American  army. 

The  American  legion  was  ordered  to  advance 
with  trailed  arms,  and  rouse  the  enemy  from  hia 
covert  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  and  then  deliv- 
er its  fire.  The  cavalry,  led  by  Captain  Campbell, 
was  ordered  to  advance  between  the  Indians  and 
the  river,  where  the  wood  permitted  them  to  pene- 
trate, and  charge  their  left  flank.  General  Scott, 
at  the  head  of  the  mounted  volunteers,  was  com- 


22^1 


LFPE   OF    DANtBL    BOONE^ 


manded  ta  make  a  considerable  circuit  and  turn 
their  right.  These,  and  all  the  complicated  order? 
of  General  Wayne,  were  promptly  executed.  But 
such  was  the  impetuosiij  of  the  charge  made  by 
the  first  line  of  infantry,  so  entirely  was  the  enemy 
broken  by  it,  and  so  rapid  was  the  pursuit,  that 
only  a  small  part  of  the  second  line,  and  of  the 
mounted  volunteers  could  take  any  part  in  the  ac- 
tion. In  the  course  of  an  hour,  the  savages  were 
driven  more  than  two  miles,  and  within  gun-shot  of 
the  British  fort. 

General  Wayne  remained  three  days  on  the  field 
of  battle,  reducing  the  houses  and  corn-fields,  above 
and  below  the  fort,  and  some  of  them  within  pistoj 
shot  of  it,  to  ashes.  The  houses  and  stores  of  Col. 
M'Kee,  an.  English  trader,  whose  great  influence 
among  the  savages  had  been  uniformly  exerted  for 
the  continuance  of  the  war,  was  burned  among  the 
rest.  Correspondence  upon  these  points  took  place 
between  General  Wayne  and  Major  Campbell,  who 
commanded  the  British  fort.  That  of  General 
Wayne  was  sufficiently  firm;  and  it  manifested  that 
the  latter  only  avoided  hostilities  with  him,  by  ac- 
quiescing in  the  destruction  of  British  property 
within  the  range  of  his  guns. 

On  the  28th  the  army  returned  to  Au  Glaizc,  de- 
stroying all  the  villages  and  corn  within  fifty  miles 
of  the  river.  In  this  decisive  battle,  the  American 
loss,  in  killed  and  wounded,  amounted  to  one  hun- 
dred and  seven,  including  officers.  Among  those 
that  fell,  were  Captain  Campbell  and  Lieutcnan^t 
Towles.     The  general  bestowed  great  and  merited 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  225 

praise,   lor  their  biavery  and   promptitude  in    this 
affair,  to  all  his  troops. 

The  hostility  of  the  Indians  still  continuing,  the 
whole  country  was  laid  waste ;  and  forts  were  erect- 
ed in  the  heart  of  their  settlements,  to  prevent  their 
return.  This  seasonable  victory,  and  this  deter- 
mined conduct  on  the  part  of  the  United  States, 
rescued  them  from  a  general  war  with  all  the  na- 
tions north-west  of  the  Ohio.  The  Six  Nations 
had  manifested  resentments,  which  were  only  ap- 
peased for  the  moment,  by  the  suspension  of  a 
settlement,  which  Pennsylvania  was  making  at 
Presqu'  Isle,  within  their  alleged  limits.  The  issue 
of  this  battle  dissipated  the  clouds  at  once  which 
had  been  thickening  in  that  quarter.  Its  influence 
was  undoubtedly  felt  far  to  the  south.  The  Indian 
inhabitants  of  Georgia,  and  still  farther  to  the  south 
had  been  apparently  on  the  verge  of  a  war,  and  had 
been  hardly  restrained  from  hostility  by  the  feeble 
authority  of  that  state. 

No  incidents  of  great  importance  occurred  in 
this  quarter,  until  August  3d,  of  the  next  year 
when  a  definitive  treaty  was  concluded  by  Genera] 
Wayne,  with  the  hostile  Indians  north-west  of  the 
Ohio.  By  this  treaty,  the  destructive  war  which 
had  so  long  desolated  that  frontier,  was  ended  in  a 
manner  acceptable  to  the  United  States.  An  ac- 
commodation was  also  brought  about  with  the  south- 
ern Indians,  notwithstanding  the  intrigues  of  their 
Spanish  neighbors.  The  regions  of  tlie  Mississippi 
valley  were  opened  on  all  sides  to  immigration,  and 
rescued  from  the  dread  of  Indian  hostilities. 


226  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Rejoknngs  on  account  of  the  peace — Boone  indulges  his  propensity  foe 
hunting — Kentucky  increases  in  population — Some  account  of  tliev 
conflicting  land  titles — Progress  of  civil  improvement  destroying  the 
range  of  the  hunter — Litigation  of  land  titles — Boone  loses  his  lands- 
Removes  from  Kentucky  to  the  Kanawha — Leaves  the  Kanawha  an<3 
goes  to  Missouri,  where  he  is  appointed  Commandant. 

The  peace  which  followed  the  defeat  of  the  north- 
ern tribes  of  Indians  by  General  Wayne,  was  most 
grateful  to  the  harassed  settlers  of  the  west.  The 
news  of  it  was  received  every  where  with  the  most 
lively  joy.  Every  one  had  cause  of  gratulation. 
The  hardy  warriors,  whose  exploits  we  have  recount- 
ed, felt  that  they  were  relieved  from  the  immense 
responsibilities  which  rested  upon  them  as  the  guar- 
dians and  protectors  of  the  infant  settlements.  The 
new  settlers  could  now  clear  their  wild  lands,  and 
cultivate  their  rich  fields  in  peace — without  fearing 
the  ambush  and  the  rifles  of  a  secret  foe;  and  the  ten- 
ants of  the  scattered  cabins  could  now  sleep  in 
safety,  and  without  the  dread  of  being  wakened  by 
the  midnight  war-whoop  of  the  savage.  Those  who 
had  been  pent  up  in  forts  and  stations  joyfully  sal- 
lied forth,  and  settled  wherever  the  soil  and  local 
advantages  appeared  the  most  inviting. 

Colonel  Boone,  in  particular,  felt  that  a  firm  and 
resolute  perseverance  had  finally  triumphed  over  ev- 
ery obstacle.  That  the  rich  and  boundless  valleys 
of  the  great  west — the  garden  of  the   earth — and 


J.irE    OF    DANIEL    ROOXE.  2*27 

the  paradise  of  hunters,  had  been  won  from  the  do- 
minion of  the  savage  tribes,  and  opened  as  an  asy- 
hnn  for  the  oppressed,  the  enterprising,  and  the  free 
of  every  land.  He  had  travelled  in  every  direction 
through  this  great  valley.  lie  had  descended  from 
the  Allcghanies  into  the  fertile  regions  of  Tennes- 
see, and  traced  the  courses  of  the  Cumberland  and 
Tennessee  rivers.  He  had  wandered  with  delight 
through  the  blooming  forests  of  Kentucky.  He  had 
been  carried  prisoner  by  the  Indians  through  the 
wilderness  which  is  now  the  state  of  Ohio  to  the  great 
lakes  of  the  north;  he  had  traced  the  head  waters  of 
the  Kentucky,  the  Wabash,  the  Miamies,  the  Scio- 
to, and  other  great  rivers  of  the  west,  and  had  fol- 
lowed their  meanderings  to  their  entrance  into  the 
Ohio;  he  had  stood  upon  the  shores  of  this  beautiful 
river,  and  gazed  with  admiration,  as  he  pursued  its 
winding  and  placid  course  through  endless  forests  to 
mingle  with  the  Mississippi;  he  had  caught  some 
glimmerings  of  the  future,  and  saw  with  the  prophe- 
tic eye  of  a  patriot,  that  this  great  valley  must  soon 
become  the  abode  of  millions  of  freemen;  and  his 
heart  swelled  with  joy,  and  warmed  with  a  trans- 
port which  was  natural  to  a  mind  so  unsophisticated 
and  disinterested  as  his. 

Boone  rejoiced  in  a  peace  which  put  an  end  to  his 
perils  and  anxieties,  and  which  now  gave  him  full 
leisure  and  scope  to  follow  his  darling  pursuit  of 
hunting.  He  had  first  been  led  to  the  country  by 
that  spirit  of  the  hunter,  which  in  him  amounted 
almost  to  a  passion.  This  propensity  may  be  said  to 
be   natural  tr  man.     Even   in  cities   and  populous 


228  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

places  \vc  find  men  so  fond  of  this  pastime  that  thej 
ransack  the  cultivated  fields  and  enclosures  of  the 
farmer,  for  the  purpose  of  killing  the  little  birds  and 
squirrels,  which,  from  their  insignificance,  have  ven- 
tured to  take  up  their  abode  with  civilized  man. 
What,  then,  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  Boone, 
to  find  himself  in  the  grand  theatre  of  the  hunter — 
filled  with  buffaloes,  deer,  bears,  wild  turkeys,  and 
other  noble  game? 

The  free  exercise  of  this  darling  passion  had  been 
checked  and  restrained,  ever  since  the  first  settle- 
ment of  the  country,  by  the  continued  wars  and  hos- 
tile incursions  of  the  Indians.  The  path  of  the  hun- 
ter had  been  ambushed  by  the  wily  savage,  c  nd  he 
seldom  ventured  beyond  the  purlieus  of  his  cabin, 
01  the  sta,tion  where  he  resided.  He  was  now  free 
to  roam  in  safety  through  the  pathless  wilderness — 
to  camp  out  in  security  whenever  he  was  overtaken 
by  night;  and  to  pursue  the  game  wherever  it  vras 
to  be  found  in  the  greatest  abundance. 

Civilization  had  not  yet  driven  the  primitive  ten- 
ants of  the  forest  from  their  favorite  retreats.  Most 
of  the  country  was  still  in  a  state  of  nature — unset- 
tled and  unappropriated.  Few  fences  or  inclosures 
impeded  the  free  range  of  the  hunter,  and  very  few 
huts  and  bounds  warned  him  of  his  being  about  to 
trespass  upon  the  private  property  of  some  neighbor. 
Herds  of  buffaloes  and  deer  still  fed  upon  the  rich 
cane-brake  and  rank  vegetation  of  the  boundles3 
woods,  and  resorted  to  the  numerous  Licks  for  salt 
and  drink. 

Boone  now  improved  this  golden  opportunity  of 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  229 

indulging  in  his  favorite  pursuit.  He  loved  to  wan- 
der alone,  with  his  unerring  rifle  upon  his  shoulder, 
through  the  labyrinths  of  the  tangled  forests,  and 
to  rouse  the  wild  beast  from  his  secret  lair.  There 
was  to  him  a  charm  in  these  primeval  solitudes 
which  suited  his  peculiar  temperament,  and  he  fre- 
quently absented  himself  on  these  lonely  expedi- 
tions for  days  together.  He  never  was  known  to  re- 
turn without  being  loaded  with  the  spoils  of  the  chase. 
The  choicest  viands  and  titbits  of  all  the  forest-fed 
animals  were  constantly  to  be  found  upon  his  table. 
Not  that  Boone  was  an  epicure;  far  from  it.  He 
would  have  been  satisfied  with  a  soldier's  fare.  In 
common  with  other  pioneers  of  his  time,  he  knew 
what  it  was  to  live  upon  roots  and  herbs  for  days 
together.  He  had  suffered  hunger  hnd  want  in  all 
its  forms  without  a  murmur  or  complaint.  But  when 
peace  allowed  him  to  follow  his  profession  of  a  hun- 
ter, and  to  exercise  that  tact  and  superiority  which 
so  much  distinguished  him,  he  selected  from  the 
abundance  and  profusion  of  the  game  which  fell 
victims  to  his  skill,  such  parts  as  were  most  es- 
teemed. His  friends  and  neighbors  were  also,  at 
all  times,  made  welcome  to  a  share  of  whatever  he 
killed.  And  he  continued  to  Hve  in  this  primitive 
simplicity — enjoying  the  luxury  of  hunting,  and  of 
roving  in  the  woods,  and  indulging  his  generous  and 
disinterested  disposition  towards  his  neighbors,  for 
several  years  after  the  peace. 

In  the  meantime,  while  Boone  had  been  thus 
courting  sohtude,  and  absorbed  by  the  engrossing 
excitement  of  hunting,  the  restless  spirit  of  immi- 

20 


230  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

gration,  and  of  civil  and  physical  improvement,  had 
not  been  idle.  After  the  peace  the  tide  of  popula- 
tion poured  into  the  country  in  a  continual  stream, 
and  the  busy  spirit  of  civilization  was  every  where 
making  inroads  into  the  ancient  forests,  and  en- 
croaching upon  the  dominions  of  the  hunter. 

In  order,  however,  that  the  reader  may  more 
readily  comprehend  the  causes  which  operated  as 
grievances  to  Boone,  and  finally  led  him  to  aban- 
don Kentucky,  and  seek  a  home  in  regions  more 
congenial,  it  will  be  necessary  to  allude  to  the  pro- 
gress made  in  population,  and  the  civil  polity,  and 
incidents  attending  the  settlement  of  the  country. 

The  state  of  Kentucky  was  not  surveyed  by  the 
government  and  laid  off  into  sections  and  townships 
as  has  been  the  case  with  all  the  lands  north  of  thfe 
Ohio.  But  the  government  of  Virginia  had  issued 
land  warrants,  or  certificates,  entitling  the  holder  tc 
locate  wherever  he  might  choose,  the  number  ot 
acres  named  in  the  warrant.  They  also  gave  t( 
actual  settlers  certain  pre-emption  rights  to  such 
lands  as  they  might  occupy  and  improve  by  building 
a  cabin,  raising  a  crop,  &c.  The  holders  of  these 
warrants,  after  selecting  the  land  which  they  inten- 
ded to  cover  with  their  titles,  were  required  to  enter 
a  survey  and  description  of  the  tracts  selected,  in  the 
Land  office,  which  had  been  opened  for  the  purpose, 
to  be  recorded  there,  for  the  information  of  others, 
and  to  prevent  subsequent  holders  of  warrants  from 
locating  the  same  lands.  Yet  notwitlistanding  these 
precautions,  such  was  the  careless  manner  in  which 
those  surveys  were  made,  that  many  illiterate  per- 


lilFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  231 

«ns,  ignorant  of  the  forms  of  law,  and  the  necessity 
of  precision  in  the  specification  and  descriptions  of 
the  tracts  on  which  they  had  laid  their  warrants, 
made  such  loose  and  ^  ague  entries  in  the  land  office, 
as  to  afford  no  accurate  information  to  subsequent 
locators,  who  frequently  laid  their  warrants  on  the 
same  tracts.  It  thus  happened  that  the  whole  or  a 
part  of  almost  every  tract  was  covered  with  differ- 
ent and  conflicting  titles — forming  what  have  been 
aptly  called  'shingle  titles' — overlaying  and  lapping 
upon  each  other,  as  shingles  do  upon  the  roof  of  a 
building.  In  this  way  twice  the  existing  acres  of 
land  were  sold,  and  the  door  opened  for  endless  con- 
troversy about  boundaries  and  titles.  The  following 
copy  of  an  entry  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the 
vagueness  of  the  lines,  huts,  and  bounds  of  their 
claims,  and  as  accounting  for  the  flood  of  litigation 
that  ensued. 

''George  Smith  enters  nine  hundred  acres  of  land 
on  a  treasury  warrant,  lying  on  the  north  side  of 
Kentucky  river,  a  mile  below  a  creek;  beginning 
about  twenty  poles  below  a  lick;  and  running  down 
the  river  westwardly,  and  northwestwardly  for 
«[uantity." 

It  will  easily  be  seen  that  a  description,  so  gene- 
ral and  indefinite  in  its  terms,  could  serve  as  no 
guide  to  others  who  might  wish  to  avoid  entering 
the  same  lands.  This  defect  in  providing  fcr  the 
certainty  and  safety  of  land  titles,  proved  a  sore  evil 
to  the  state  of  Kentucky.  As  these  lands  increased 
in  value  and  importance,  controversies  arose  as  to 
<he  ownership  of  almost  every  tract;  and  innumerar 


^32  L1F£    OF    DANIEL    ROOXE. 

ble  suits,  great  strife  and  excitement,  prevailed  iYi 
every  neig;hborhood,  and  continued  until  within  a 
late  period,  to  agitate  the  whole  body  of  society. 
The  legislature  of  the  state,  by  acts  of  limitation  and 
judicious  legislation  upon  the  subject,  hav^  finally 
quieted  the  titles  of  the  actual  occupants. 

Among  others  who  made  these  loose  and  unfortu 
nate  entries,  was  Paniel  Boone.  Unaccustomed  to 
the  forms  of  law  and  technical  precision,  he  was  gui 
ded  by  his  own  views  of  what  was  proper  and  requi 
site,  and  made  such  brief  and  general  entries,  as 
were  afterwards  held  not  sufficient  to  identify  the 
land.  He  had  discovered  and  explored  the  country 
when  it  was  all  one  vast  wilderness — unoccupied, 
and  unclaimed.  He  and  a  few  other  hardy  pioneers, 
by  almost  incredible  hardships,  dangers,  and  sacri- 
fices, had  won  it  from  the  savage  foe;  and  judging 
from  his  own  single  and  generous  mind,  he  did  not 
suppose  that  question  would  ever  be  made  of  his 
right  to  occupy  such  favorite  portions  as  he  might 
select  and  pay  for.  He  did  not  think  it  possible  that 
any  one,  knowing  these  circumstances,  could  be 
found  so  greedy  or  so  heartless,  as  to  grudge  him  the 
quiet  and  unmolested  enjoyment  of  what  he  had  so 
dearly  earned.  But  in  this  he  was  sadly  mistaken, 
A  set  of  speculators  and  interlopers,  who,  following 
in  the  train  of  civilization  and  wealth,  came  to  enrich 
thcmeclves  by  monopolizing  the  rich  lancls  which 
had  thus  been  won  for  them,  and  by  the  aid  of  legal 
advisers,  following  all  the  nice  requisitions  of  the  law, 
pounced,  among  others,  upon  the  lands  of  our  old 
pioneer      He   was  not   at  first   disturbed  by  these 


LIFE    OP    DANIEL    BOONE.  233 

specultiling  harpies;  and  game  being  plenty,  he  gave 
himself  little  uneasiness  about  the  claims  and  titles 
to  particular  spots,  so  long  as  he  had  such  vast  hunt- 
ing grounds  to  roam  in — which,  however,  he  had 
the  sorrow  to  see  daily  encroached  upon  by  the  new 
settlements  of  the  immigrants. 

But  the  inroads  made  by  the  frequent  settlements 
in  his  accustomed  hunting  range,  were  not  the  only 
annoyances  which  disturbed  the  simple  habits  and 
patriarchal  views  of  Boone.  Civilization  brought 
along  with  it  all  the  forms  of  law,  and  the  complica- 
ted organization  of  society  and  civil  government,  the 
progress  of  which  had  kept  pace  with  the  increasing 

population. 

As  early  as  1783,  the  territory  of  Kentucky  had 
been  laid  oif  into  three  counties,  and  was  that  year, 
by  law,  formed  into  one  District,  denominated  the 
District  of  Kentucky.  Regular  courts  of  justice 
were  organized — log  court-houses  and  log  jails 
were  erected — judges,  lawyers,  sheriffs,  and  juries 
were  engaged  in  the  administration  of  justice — 
money  began  to  circulate — cattle  and  flocks  multi- 
plied— reading  and  writing  schools  were  commen- 
ced— more  wealthy  immigrants  began  to  flock  to 
the  country,  bringing  with  them  cabinet  furniture, 
and  many  of  the  luxuries  of  more  civilized  life — 
and  merchandize  began  to  be  wagoned  from  Phila- 
delphia across  the  mountains  to  fort  Pitt,  now  Pitts- 
burgh, from  whence  it  was  conveyed  in  flat  boats 
to  Maysville  and  Louisville. 

In  1785  a  convention  was  convoked  at  Danville, 

who  adopted  a  memorial,  addressed  to  the  Legisla 

20* 


234  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE* 

ture  of  Virginia,  and  another  to  the  people  of  Ken- 
tucky— suggesting  the  propriety,  and  reasons  for 
erecting  the  new  country  into  an  independent  state. 
In  the  discussion  of  this  question  parties  arose,  and 
that  warmth  and  excitement  were  eUcited,  which 
are  inseparable  from  the  free  and  unrestrained  dis- 
cussion of  public  measures. 

In  1786  the  legislature  of  Virginia  enacted  the 
preliminary  provisions  for  the  separation  of  Ken- 
tucky, as  an  independent  state,  provided  that  Con- 
gress should  admit  it  into  the  Union.  About  this 
time  another  source  of  party  discord  was  opened  in 
agitating  debates  touching  the  claims  of  Kentucky 
and  the  West  to  the  navigation  of  the  Mississippi. 
The  inhabitants  were  informed  by  malcontents  in 
Western  Pennsylvania,  that  the  American  Secre- 
tary of  State  was  making  propositions  to  the  Span- 
ish minister,  to  cede  to  Spain  the  exclusive  right  of 
navigation  of  the  Mississippi  for  twenty-five  years. 
This  information  as  might  be  supposed,  created  a 
great  sensation.  It  had  been  felt  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  western  settlements,  that  the  right  to 
the  free  navigation  of  the  Mississippi  was  of  vital 
importance  to  the  whole  western  country,  and  the 
least  relinquishment  of  this  right — even  for  the 
smallest  space  of  time,  would  be  of  dangerous  pre- 
cedent and  tendency.  Circulars  were  addressed 
by  the  principal  settlers  to  men  of  influence  in  the 
nation.  But  before  any  decisive  measures  could 
be  tiken,  Virginia  interfered,  by  instructing  her 
representatives  in  Congress  to  make  strong  rcpresen 
tations  against  tho  ruinous  policy  of  the  measure. 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  1236 

In  1787  commenced  the  first  operations  of  that 
mighty  engine,  the  press,  in  the  western  country. 
Nothing  could  have  been  wider  from  the  anticipa- 
tions, perhaps  from  the  wishes  of  Boone,  than  this 
progress  of  things.  But  in  the  order  of  events,  the 
transition  of  unlettered  backwoods  emigrants  to  a 
people  with  a  police,  and  all  the  engines  of  civiliza- 
tion was  uncommonly  rapid.  There  w^as  no  other 
paper  within  five  hundred  miles  of  the  one  now  es- 
tablished by  Mr.  Bradford,  at  Lexington.  The  po- 
litical heart-burnings  and  slander  that  had  hitherto 
been  transmitted  through  oral  channels,  were  now 
concentrated  for  circulation  in  this  gazette. 

In  April,  1792,  Kentucky  was  admitted  into  the 
Union  as  an  independent  state;  improvements  were 
steadily  and  rapidly  progressing,  and  notwithstand- 
ing the  hostility  of  the  Indians,  the  population  of 
the  state  was  regularly  increasing  until  the  peace 
which  followed  the  victory  of  Gen.  Wayne.  After 
which,  as  has  been  observed,  the  tide  of  emigration 
poured  into  the  country  with  unexampled  rapidity. 

Litigation  in  regard  to  land  titles  now  began  to 
increase,  and  continued  until  it  was  carried  to  a 
distressing  height.  Col.  Boone  had  begun  to  turn 
his  attention  to  the  cultivation  of  the  choice  tracts 
he  had  entered;  and  he  looked  forward  with  the 
consoling  thought  that  he  had  enough  to  provide 
for  a  large  and  rising  family,  by  securing  to  each 
of  his  children,  as  they  became  of  age,  a  fine  plan- 
tation. But  in  the  vortex  of  litigation  which  ensued, 
he  was  not  permitted  to  escape.  The  speculators 
who    had    spread    their    greedy    claims    over    the 


236  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

lands  which  had  heen  previously  located  and  paid 
for  by  Boone,  relying  upon  his  imperfect  entries, 
and  some  legal  flaws  in  his  titles,  brought  their 
ejectments  against  him,  and  dragged  him  into  a 
court  of  law.  He  employed  counsel,  and  from 
term  to  term,  was  compelled  to  dance  attendance 
at  court.  Here  the  old  hunter  listened  to  the  quib- 
bles— the  subtleties,  and  to  him,  inexplicable  jar- 
gon of  the  lawyers.  His  suits  were  finally  decided 
against  him,  and  he  was  cast  out  of  the  possession 
of  all,  or  nearly  all  the  lauds  which  he  had  looked 
upon  as  being  indubitably  his  own.  The  indigna- 
tion of  the  old  pioneer  can  well  be  imagined,  as  he 
saw  himself  thus  stript,  by  the  quibbles  and  intrica- 
cies of  the  law,  of  all  the  rewards  of  his  exposures, 
labors,  sufferings, and  dangers  in  the  first  settlement 
of  Kentucky.  He  became  more  than  ever  disgust- 
ed with  the  grasping  and  avaricious  spirit — the 
heartless  intercourse  and  technical  forms  of  what  ia 
called  civilized  society. 

But  having  expended  his  indignation  in  a  tran- 
sient paroxysm,  he  soon  settled  back  to  his  custom- 
ary mental  complacency  and  self-possession;  and  as 
he  had  no  longer  any  pledge  of  consequence  re- 
maining to  him  in  the  soil  of  Kentucky — and  as  it 
was,  moreover,  becoming  on  all  sides  subject  to  the 
empire  of  the  cultivator's  axe  and  plough,  he  re- 
solved to  leave  the  country.  He  had  witnessed 
with  regret  the  dispersion  of  the  band  of  pioneers, 
with  whom  he  had  hunted  and  fought,  side  by  side, 
and  like  a  band  of  brothers,  shared  every  hardsliip 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  237 

and  every  danger;  and  he  sighed  for  new  fields  of 
adventure,  and  the  excitement  of  a  hunter's  life. 
^  Influenced  by  these   feelings,  he  removed  from 
Kentucky  to  the  great  Kanahwa;  where  he  settled 
near  Point  Pleasant.     He  had  been  informed  that 
buffaloes  and  deer  were  still  to  be  found  in  abun- 
dance  on  the  unsettled  bottoms  of  this  river,  and  that 
it  was  a  fine  country  for  trapping.     Here  he  contin- 
ued    to  reside  several   years.     But  he  was   disap- 
pointed in  his  expectations  of  finding  game.     The 
vicinity  of  the  settlements  above  and  below  this  un- 
settled  region,   had   driven   the  buffaloes  from  the 
country;  and  though  there  were  plenty  of  deer,  yet 
lie  derived  but  little  success  from  his  trapping.     He 
finally  commenced  raising  stock,  and  began  to  turn 
his  attention  to  agriculture. 

While  thus  engaged,  he  met  with  some  persona 
who  had  returned  from  a  tour  up  the  Missouri,  who 
described  to  him  the  fine  country  bordering  upon 
that  river.  The  vast  prairies— the  herds  of  buffa- 
loes—the  grizzly  bears— the  beavers  and  otters;  and 
above  all,  the  ancient  and  unexplored  forests  of  that 
unknown  region,  fired  his  imagination,  and  produced 
at  once  a  resolve  to  remove  there. 

Accordingly,  gathering  up  such  useful  articles  of 
baggage  as  were  of  light  carriage,  among  which  his 
trusty  rifle  was  not  forgotten,  he  started  with  his 
family,  driving  his  whole  stock  of  cattle  along  with 
him,  on  a  pilgrimage  to  this  new  land  of  promise. 
He  passed  through  Cincinnati  on  his  way  thither  in 
17<)8.  Being  enquired  of  as  to  what  had  induced 
him  to  leave  all  the  comforts  of  home,  and  so  rich 


1138  LIFE    or    DANIEL    BOONE. 

and  flourishing  a  country  as  his  dear  Kentucky? 
which  he  had  discovered,  and  might  almost  call  his 
own,  for  the  wilds  of  Missouri  ?  "Too  much  crowd 
ed,"  replied  he — "too  crowded — I  want  more  elbow 
room  "  He  proceeded  about  fortj-five  miles  above 
St.  Louis,  and  settled  in  what  is  now  St.  Charles 
count  J.  This  country  being  still  in  the  possession 
of  the  French  and  Spanish,  the  ancient  laws  by 
which  these  territories  were  governed  were  still  in 
force  there.  Nothing  could  be  more  simple  than 
their  whole  system  of  administration.  They  had  no 
constitution,  no  king,  no  legislative  assemblies,  no 
judges,  juries,  lawyers,  or  sheriffs.  An  officer,  called 
the  Commandant,  and  the  priests,  exercised  all  the 
functions  of  civil  magistrates,  and  decided  the  few 
controversies  which  arose  among  these  primitive  in 
habitants,  who  held  and  occupied  many  things  in 
common.  They  suffered  their  ponies,  their  cattle, 
their  swine,  and  their  flocks,  to  ramble  and  graze  on 
the  same  common  prairies  and  pastures — having  but 
few  fences  or  inclosures,  and  possessing  but  little  of 
that  spirit  of  speculation,  enterprise,  and  money-ma> 
king,  which  has  always  characterized  the  Americansii 
These  simple  laws  and  neighborly  customs  suited 
the  peculiar  habits  and  temper  of  Boone.  And  as 
his  character  for  honesty,  courage,  and  fidelity  fol- 
lowed him  there,  he  was  appointed  Commandant 
for  the  district  of  St.  Charles  by  the  Spanish  Com- 
mandant. He  retained  this  command,  and  continued 
to  exercise  the  duties  of  his  office  with  credit  to  him- 
self, and  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  concerned,  until  the 
government  of  the  United  States  went  into  effect. 


LrPE   OF    DANIEL   BOONE.  239 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Anecdotes  of  Colonel  Boone,  related  by  Mr.  Audubon— A  remaikabla 
instance  of  memory. 

As  an  evidence  of  the  development  of  backwoods 
skill,  and  a  vivid  picture  of  Daniel  Boone,  we  give 
the  following  from  Mr.  Audubon: 

'•Daniel  Boone,  or  as  he  was  usually  called  in  the 
Western  country, Colonel  Boone,  happened  to  spend 
a  night  under  the  same  roof  with  me,  more  than 
twenty  years  ago.  We  had  returned  from  a  shoot- 
ing excursion,  in  the  course  of  which  his  extraor- 
dinary skill  in  the  management  of  a  rifle  had  been 
fully  displayed.  On  retiring  to  the  room  appropri- 
ated to  that  remarkable  individual  and  myself  for 
the  night,  I  felt  anxious  to  know  more  of  his  exploits 
and  adventures  than  I  did,  and  accordingly  took  the 
liberty  of  proposing  numerous  questions  to  him.  The 
stature  and  general  appearance  of  this  wanderer  of 
the  western  forests,  approached  the  gigantic.  His 
chest  was  broad  and  prominent;  his  muscular  pow- 
ers displayed  themselves  in  every  limb ;  his  counte- 
nance gave  indication  of  his  great  courage,  enter- 
prise, and  perseverance;  and  when  he  spoke,  the 
very  motion  of  his  lips  brought  the  impression, 
that  whatever  he  uttered  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  strictly  true.  I  undressed,  whilst  he  merely 
took  off  his  hunting  shirt,  and  arranged  a  few  folds 
of  blankets  on  the  floor;  choosing  rather  to  lie  there, 
as  he  observed,  than  on  the  softest  bed.     When  we 


2^10  TJTE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE, 

had  both  disposed  of  ourselves,  each  after  his  own 
fashion,  he  related  to  me  the  following  account  of  his 
powers  of  memory,  which  I  lay  before  you,  kind 
reader,  in  his  own  words,  hoping  that  the  simplicitj 
of  his  style  may  prove  interesting  to  you. 

"I  was  once,"  said  he,  "on  a  hunting  expedition 
on  the  banks  of  the  Green  river,  when  the  lowei 
parts  of  this  (Kentucky,)  were  still  in  the  hands  ol 
nature,  and  none  but  the  sons  of  the  soil  were  look- 
ed upon  as  its  lawful  proprietors.  We  Virginians 
had  for  some  time  been  waging  a  war  of  intru- 
sion upon  them,  and  I,  amongst  the  rest,  rambled 
through  the  woods,  in  pursuit  of  their  race,  as  I 
now  would  follow  the  tracks  of  any  ravenous  ani- 
mal. The  Indians  outwitted  me  one  dark  night, 
and  I  was  as  unexpectedly  as  suddenly  made  a  pris- 
oner by  them.  The  trick  had  been  managed  with 
great  skill;  for  no  sooner  had  I  extinguished  the  fire 
of  my  camp,  and  laid  me  down  to  rest,  in  full 
security,  as  I  thought,  than  I  felt  myself  seized  hj  an 
indistinguishable  number  of  hands,  and  was  imme- 
diately pinioned,  as  if  about  to  be  led  to  the  scaffold 
for  execution.  To  have  attempted  to  be  refractory, 
would  have  proved  useless  and  dangerous  to  my  life; 
and  I  suffered  myself  to  be  removed  from  my  camp 
to  theirs,  a  few  miles  distant,  without  uttering  even  a 
word  of  complaint.  You  are  aware,  I  dare  say,  that 
to  act  in  this  manner,  was  the  best  policy,  as  you  un- 
derstand that  by  so  doing,  I  proved  to  the  Indians  at 
once,  that  I  was  born  and  bred  as  fearless  of  death 
as  any  of  themselves. 

When  we  reached  the  camp,  great  rejoicings  were 


liIPE   OP   DANIEL   BOONE.  *Zi\ 

exhibited.     Two  squaws,  and  a  few  papooses,  ap- 
peared particularly  delighted  at  the  sight  of  me,  and 
I  was  assured,   by  very   unequivocal  gestures   and 
words,  that,  on  the  morrow,  the  mortal  enemy  of  tlie 
Red-skins  would  cease  to  live.     I  never  opened  my 
lips,  but  was  busy  contriving  some  scheme  which 
might  enable  me  to  give  the  rascals  the  slip  before 
dawn.     The  women   immediately  fell  a  searching 
about  my  hunting  sliirt  for  whatever  they  might  think 
valuable,  and  fortunately  for  me,  soon  found   my 
flask,  filled  with  Monongahela,  (that  is,  reader,  strong 
whisky.)       A  terrific  grin   was  exhibited   on  theii 
murderous  countenances,   while  my  heart  throbbec? 
with  joy  at  the  anticipation  of  their  intoxication. 
The  crew  immediately  began  to  beat  their  bellies 
and  sing,  as  they  passed  the  bottle  from  mouth  to 
mouth.     How  often  did  I  wish  the  flask  ten  tim.es  its 
size,  and  filled  with  aquafortis!     I  observed  that  the 
squaws  drank  more  freely  than  the  warriors,  and 
again  my  spirits  were  about  to  be  depressed,  when 
the  report  of  a  gun  was  heard  at  a  distance.     The 
Indians  all  jumped  on  their  feet.     The  singing  and 
drinking  were  both  brought  to  a  stand;   and  I  saw 
with  inexpressible  joy,  the  men  walk  off  to  some  dis 
tance,  and   talk  to  the  squaws.     I  knew  that  they 
were  consulting  about  me,  and  I  foresaw,  that  in  a 
few  moments  the  warriors  would  go  to  discover  the 
cause  of  the  gun  having  been  fired  so  near  their 
camp.     I  expected  the  squaws  would  be  left  to  guard 
rne.     Well,  sir,  it  was  just  so.     They  returned;  the 
men   took  up  their  guns  and  walked  away.     The 

squaws  sat  down  again,  and  in  less  than  five  minutes 

21 


243  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

they  had  my  bottle  up  to  their  dirty  mouths,  gurg- 
Hng  down  their  throats  the  remains  of  the  whisky. 

"With  what  pleasure  did  I  see  them  becoming  more 
and  more  drunk,  until  the  liquor  took  such  hold  of 
them  that  it  was  quite  impossible  for  these  women 
to  be  of  any  service.  They  tumbled  down,  rolled 
about,  and  began  to  snore;  when  I,  having  no  other 
chance  of  freeing  mj'self  from  the  cords  that  fastened 
me,  rolled  over  and  over  towards  the  fire,  and  after 
a  short  time  burned  them  asunder.  I  rose  on  my 
feet;  stretched  my  stiffened  sinews;  snatched  up  my 
rifle,  and,  for  once  in  my  life,  spared  that  of  Indians. 
I  now  recollect  how  desirous  I  once  or  twice  felt  to 
lay  open  the  skulls  of  the  wretches  with  my  toma- 
hawk; but  when  I  again  thought  upon  killing  beings 
unprepared  and  unable  to  defend  themselves,  it 
looked  like  murder  without  need,  and  I  gave  up  the 
idea. 

"But,  sir,  I  felt  determined  to  mark  the  spot,  and 
walking  to  a  thrifty  ash  sapling,  I  cut  out  of  it  three 
large  chips,  and  ran  off.  I  soon  reached  the  river; 
soon  crossed  it,  and  threw  myself  deep  into  the 
cane-brakes,  imitating  the  tracks  of  an  Indian  with 
my  feet,  so  that  no  chance  might  be  left  for  thos« 
from  whom  I  had  escaped  to  overtake  me. 

"It  is  now  nearly  twenty  years  since  this  happen- 
ed, and  more  than  five  since  I  left  the  whites'  settle- 
ments, which  I  might  probably  never  have  visited 
again,  had  I  not  been  called  on  as  a  witness  in  a 
Jaw-suit  that  was  pending  in  Kentucky.;  and  which, 
I  really  believe,  would  never  have  been  settled,  had 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  245 

I  not  come  forward,  and  established  the  beginning 
of  a  certain  boundary  line.     This  is  the  story,  sir. 

"Mr.  moved  from  old  Virginia  into  Ken- 
tucky, and  having  a  large  tract  granted  to  him  in 
the  new  state,  laid  claim  to  a  certain  parcel  of  land 
adjoining  Green  river,  and  as  chance  would  have  it, 
he  took  for  one  of  his  corners  the  very  ash  tree  on 
which  I  had  made  my  mark,  and  finished  his  survey 
of  some  thousands  of  acres,  beginning,  as  it  is  ex- 
pressed in  the  deed,  "at  an  ash  marked  by  three 
distinct  notches  of  the  tomahawk  of  a  white  man." 

"The  tree  had  grown  much,  and  the  bark  had  cov- 
ered the  marks;  but,  some  how  or  other,  Mr. 

heard  from  some  one  all  that  I  have  already  said  to 
you,  and  thinking  that  I  might  remember  the  spot 
alluded  to  in  the  deed,  but  which  was  no  longer  dis- 
coverable, wrote  for  me  to  come  and  try  at  least  to 
find  the  place  on  the  tree.  His  letter  mentioned, 
that  all  my  expenses  should  be  paid;  and  not  caring 
mdch  about  once  more  going  back  to  Kentucky,  I 
started  and  met  Mr. .  After  some  conversa- 
tion, the  affair  with  the  Indians  came  to  my  recol- 
lection. I  considered  for  a  while,  and  began  to 
think  that  after  all,  I  could  find  the  very  spot,  as  well 
as  the  tree,  if  it  was  yet  standing. 

"Mr. and  I  mounted  our  horses,  and  off  we 

went  to  the  Green  river  bottoms.  After  some  diffi- 
culties, for  you  must  be  aware,  sir,  that  great  changes 
had  taken  place  in  these  woods,  I  found  at  last  the 
spot  where  I  had  crossed  the  river,  and  waiting  foi 
the  moon  to  rise,  made  for  the  course  in  which  I 
thought  the  ash  tree  grew.     On   approaching  the 


244  LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE, 

place,  1  felt  as  if  the  Indians  were  there  still,  and  as 

if  I  was  still   a  prisoner  among  them.     Mr. 

and  I  camped  near  what  I  conceived  the  spot,  and 
waited  till  the  return  of  day. 

"At  the  rising  of  the  sun  I  was  on  foot,  and  after 
a  good  deal  of  musing,  thought  that  an  ash  tree 
then  in  sight  must  be  the  very  one  on  which  I  had 
made   my  mark.     I  felt    as  if  there  could  be    no 

doubt  of  it,  and  mentioned  my  thought  to  Mr. . 

"Well,  Colonel  Boone,"  said  he,  "if  you  think  so,  1 
hope  it  may  prove  true,  but  we  must  have  some 
witnesses;  do  you  stay  hereabout,  and  I  will  go 
and  bring  some  of  the  settlers  whom  I  know."     I 

agreed.     Mr. trotted   off,  and  I,  to  pass  the 

time,  rambled  about  to  see  if  a  deer  was  still  living 
in  the  land.  But  ah!  sir,  what  a  wonderful  differ- 
ence thirty  years  makes  in  the  country!  Why,  at 
the  time  when  I  was  caught  by  the  Indians,  you 
would  not  have  walked  out  in  any  direction  for 
more  than  a  mile  without  shooting  a  buck  or  a  bear. 
There  were  then  thousands  of  buffaloes  on  the  liills 
in  Kentucky;  the  land  looked  as  if  it  would  never 
become  poor;  and  to  hunt  in  those  days  was  a  plea- 
sure indeed.  But  when  I  w£ia  left  to  myself  on  the 
banks  of  Green  river,  I  dare  say  for  the  last  time  in 
my  life,  a  few  signs  only  of  deer  were  to  be  seen,  and 
as  to  a  deer  itself,  I  saw  none. 

"Mr. returned,  a^tompanied  by  three  gentle- 
men. They  looked  upon  me  as  if'I  had  been  Wash- 
mgton  himself,  and  walked  to  the  ash  tree  which  1 
now  called  my  own,  as  if  in  quest  of  a  long  lost  trea- 
sure.    I  took  an  axe  from  one  of  them  and  cut  a 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  245 

few  chips  off  the  hark.  Still  no  signs,  were  to  he 
seen.  So  I  cut  again,  until  I  thought  it  time  to  he 
cautious,  and  I  scraped  and  worked  awaj  with  my 
hutcher  knife,  until  I  did  come  to  where  my  toma- 
hawk had  left  an  impression  in  the  wood.  We  now 
went  regularly  to  work,  and  scraped  at  the  tree 
with  care,  until  three  hacks,  as  plain  as  any  three 

notches  ever  were,  could  be  seen.     Mr. and 

the  other  gentlemen  were  astonished,  and,  I  must 
allow,  I  was  as  much  surprised  as  pleased,  myself. 
I  made  affidavit  of  this  remarkable  occurrence  in  the 

presence  of  these  gentlemen.     Mr. gained  his 

cause.  I  left  Green  river,  forever,  and  came  to 
where  we  now  are;  and,  sir,  I  wish  you  a  good 
night.'^ 

21* 


246  LITE. OF    DANIEL    B<>ONE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Progress  of  improvement  in  Missouri — Old  age  of  Boone — Death  ol 
his  wife — He  goes  to  reside  with  his  son — His  death — His  personal 
appearance  and  char-acter. 

Soon  after  the  purchase  of  Missouri  from  the 
French  by  our  government,  the  American  system  of 
government  began  to  be  introduced  there.  Ameri- 
can laws,  American  courts,  and  the  whole  Ameri- 
can system  of  politics  and  jurisprudence  spread 
over  the  country,  changing,  by  degrees,  the  features 
of  civil  society;  infusing  life  and  vigor  into  the 
body  politic,  and  introducing  that  restless  spirit  of 
speculation  and  improvement  which  characterise 
the  people  of  the  United  States.  The  tide  of  emi 
gration  once  more  swept  by  the  dwelling  of  Daniel 
Boone,  driving  off  the  game  and  monopolizing  the 
rich  hunting  grounds.  His  office  of  commandant 
was  merged  and  lost  in  the  new  order  of  things. 
He  saw  that  it  was  in  vain  to  contend  with  fate; 
that  go  where  he  would,  American  enterprize 
seemed  doomed  to  follow  him,  and  to  thwart  all  his 
schemes  of  backwoods  retirement.  He  found  him- 
self once  more  surrounded  by  the  rapid  march  of 
improvement,  and  he  accommodated  liimself,  as 
well  as  he  might,  to  a  state  of  things  which  he  could 
not  prevent.  He  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  h\s 
children  well  settled  around  him,  and  he  spent  his 
time  in  hunting  and  exploring  the  new  country. 

Meantime,  old  age  began  to  creep  upon  him  by 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  217 

degrees,  and  he  had  the  mortification  to  find  him- 
self surpassed  in  his  own  favorite  pursuit.  The 
sharp  shooters^  and  younger  hunters  could  scour  the 
forests  with  fleeter  pace,  and  hring  down  the  bears 
and  buffaloes  with  surer  aim,  than  his  time-  worn 
frame,  and  impaired  vision  would  allow.  Even  the 
French,  with  their  fleets  of  periogues,  ascended  the 
Missouri  to  points  where  his  stiffened  sinews  did 
not  permit  him  to  follow.  These  volatile  and  bab- 
bling hunters,  with  their  little,  and  to  him  despica- 
ble shot  guns,  could  bring  down  a  turkey,  where 
the  rifle  bullet,  now  directed  by  his  dimmed  eye, 
could  not  reach.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  sights 
were  made  more  conspicuous  by  shreds  of  white 
paper.  No  vigor  of  will  can  repair  the  irresistible 
influence  of  age.  And  however  the  heart  and  ju- 
venile remembrances  of  Boone  might  follow  these 
brisk  and  talkative  hunters  to  the  Rocky  mountains 
and  the  Western  sea,  the  sad  consciousness  that  years 
were  stronger  than  the  subduer  of  bears  and 
Indians,  came  over  his  mind  like  a  cloud. 

Other  sorrows  came  also  with  age.  In  March, 
I8I3,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  wife.  She 
had  been  to  him  a  faithful  companion — participa- 
ting the  same  heroic  and  generous  nature  with  him- 
self. She  had  followed  him  from  North  Carolina 
into  the  far  wilderness,  without  a  road  or  even  a 
•trace  to  guide  their  way — surrounded  at  every  step 
by  wild  beasts  and  savages,  and  was  one  of  the  first 
white  women  in  the  state  of  Kentucky.  She  had 
united  her  fate  to  his.  and  in  all  his  hardships,  perils, 
and  trials,  had  stood  "^  him,  a  meek,  yet  courageous 


248  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

and  affectionate  friend.  She  was  now  taken  from 
liim  in  his  old  age,  and  he  felt  for  a  time,  that  he 
was  alone  in  the  world,  and  that  the  principal  tie  to 
his  own  existence  was  sundered. 

About  this  time,  too,  the  British  war  with  its  in 
fluence  upon  the  savage  auxiliaries  of  Britain,  rx- 
tended  even  to  the  remote  forests  of  Missouri, 
which  rendered  the  wandering  life  of  a  hunter 
extremely  dangerous.  He  was  no  longer  able  to 
make  one  of  the  rangers  who  pursued  the  Indians. 
But  he  sent  numerous  substitutes  in  his  children  and 
neighbors. 

After  the  death  of  his  wife,  he  went  to  reside 
with  his  son  Major  Nathan  Boone,  and  continued 
to  make  his  home  there  until  his  death.  After  the 
peace  he  occupied  himself  in  hunting,  trapping, 
and  exploring  the  country — being  absent  sometimes 
two  or  three  months  at  a  time — solacing  his  aged  ear 
with  the  music  of  his  young  days — the  howl  of  the 
nocturnal  wolf — and  the  war  song  of  the  prowling 
savages,  heard  far  away  from  the  companionship  of 
man. 

When  the  writer  lived  in  St.  Charles,  in  1816, 
Colonel  Boone,  with  the  return  of  peace,  had  re- 
sumed his  Kentucky  habits.  He  resided,  as  has 
been  observed,  with  his  son  on  the  Missouri — sur- 
rounded by  the  plantations  of  his  children  and  con- 
nections— occasionally  farming,  and  still  felling  the 
trees  for  his  winter  fire  into  his  door  yard;  and  ev- 
ery autumn,  retiring  to  the  remote  and  moon-illu- 
mined cities  of  the  beavers,  for  the  trapping  of  which, 
age  had  taken  away  none  of  his  capabilities.     He 


LIFE    OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  '249 

could  still,  by  the  aid  of  paper  on  his  rille  sights, 
bring  down  an  occasional  turkey;  at  the  salt  licks, 
he  still  waylaid  the  deer;  andhe  found  and  cut  down 
bee-trees  as  readily  as  in  his  morning  days.  Never 
was  old  age  more  green,  or  gray  hairs  more  grace- 
ful. His  high,  calm,  bold  forehead  seemed  convert- 
ed by  years,  into  iron.  Decay  came  to  kim  without 
infirmity,  palsy,  or  pain — and  surrounded  and  cher- 
ished by  kind  friends,  he  died  as  he  had  lived,  com- 
posed and  tranquil.  This  event  took  place  in  the 
year  1818,  and  in  the  eighty-fourth  year  of  his  age. 

Frequent  enquiries,  and  opposite  statements  have 
been  made,  in  regard  to  the  rehgious  tenets  of  the 
Kentucky  hunter.  It  is  due  to  truth  to  state,  that 
Boone,  little  addicted  to  books,  knew  but  little  of 
the  bible,  the  best  of  all.  He  worshipped,  as  he 
often  said,  the  Great  Spirit — for  the  woods  were  his 
books  and  his  temple ;  and  the  creed  of  the  red  men 
naturally  became  his.  But  such  were  the  truth,  sim- 
plicity, and  kindness  of  his  character,  there  can  be 
but  little  doubt,  had  the  gospel  of  the  Son  of  God 
been  proposed  to  him,  in  its  sublime  truth  and  rea- 
sonableness, that  he  would  have  added  to  all  his 
other  virtues,  the  higher  name  of  Christian. 

He  was  five  feet  ten  inches  in  height,  of  a  very 
erect,  clean  limbed,  and  athletic  form — admirably 
fitted  in  structure,  muscle,  temperament,  and  habit, 
for  the  endurance  of  the  labors,  changes,  and  suffer- 
ings he  underwent.  He  had  what  phrenologists 
would  have  considered  a  model  head — with  a  fore- 
head peculiarly  high,  noble,  and  bold — thin  and 
compressed  lips — a  mild,   clear,  blue  eye — a  large 


250  LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

and  prominent  chin,  and  a  general  expression  of 
countenance  in  which  fearlessness  and  courage  sat 
enthroned,  and  which  told  the  beholder  at  a  glance, 
what  he  had  been,  and  was  formed  to  be. 

We  have  only  to  add,  that  the  bust  of  Boone,  in 
Washington,  the  painting  of  liim  ordered  by  the 
General  Assembly  of  Missouri,  and  the  engravings 
of  him  in  general,  have — his  family  being  judges — 
very  little  resemblance.  They  want  the  high  port 
and  noble  daring  of  his  countenance. 

Though  ungratefully  requited  by  his  country,  he 
has  left  a  name  identified  with  the  history  of  Ken- 
tucky, and  with  the  founders  and  benefactors  of  our 
great  republic.  In  all  future  time,  and  in  every  por- 
tion of  the  globe;  in  history,  in  sculpture,  in  song, 
in  eloquence — the  name  of  Daniel  Boone  will  be  re- 
corded as  the  patriarch  of  Backwoods  Pioneers. 

His  name  has  already  been  celebrated  by  more 
than  one  poet.  He  is  the  hero  of  a  poem  called 
the  "Mountain  Muse,"  by  our  amiable  countryman, 
Bryan.  He  is  supposed  to  be  the  original  from 
which  the  inimitable  characters  of  Leather  Stock- 
ing, Hawkeye,  and  the  Trapper  of  the  Prairjies, 
in  Cooper's  novels,  were  drawn;  and  we  will  close 
these  memoirs,  with  the  splendid  tribute  to  the  pa- 
triarch of  backwoodsmen,  by  the  prince  of  modern 
poets.  Lord  Byron. 

Of  all  men,  saving  Sylla,  the  man-siayer, 
"Who  passes  for  in  life  and  death  most  lucky, 
Of  the  great  names  which  in  our  faces  stare, 
Tlie  General  Boone,  backwoodsman  of  Kentucky, 


LIFE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE.  *25l 

Was  happiest  among  mortals  any  where, 
For  killing  nothing,  but  a  bear  or  buck;  he 
Enjoy'd  the  lonely,  vigorous,  harmless  days 
Of  his  old  age,  in  wilds  of  deepest  maze. 

Crime  came  not  near  himj  she  is  not  the  child 
Of  solitude;  health  shrank  not  from  him,  for 
Her  home  is  in  the  rarely  trodden  wild, 
Which,  if  men  seek  her  not,  and  death  be  more 
Their  choice  than  life,  forgive  them,  as  beguiPd 
By  habit  to  what  their  own  hearts  abhor — 
In  cities  cag'd.     The  present  case  in  point  1 
Cite  is,  Boone  liv'd  hunting  up  to  ninety: 

And  what  is  stranger,  left  behind  a  name, 
For  which  men  vainly  decimate  the  throns: 
Not  only  famous,  but  of  that  good  fame, 
Without  which  glory's  but  a  tavern  song; 
Simple,  serene,  the  antipodes  of  shame, 
Which  hate  or  envy  e'er  could  tinge  with  wrong; 
An  active  hermit;  even  in  age  the  child 
Of  nature,  or  the  Man  of  Ross  run  wild. 

'Tis  true,  he  shrank  from  men  even  of  his  nation. 
When  they  built  up  unto  his  darling  trees; 
He  mov'd  some  hundred  miles  off,  for  a  station, 
Where  there  were  fewer  houses  and  more  ease. 
The  inconvenience  of  civilization 
Is,  that  you  neither  can  be  pleased,  nor  please. 
But  where  he  met  the  individual  man. 
He  showed  himself  as  kind  as  mortal  can. 

He  was  not  all  alone;  around  him  grew 
A  sylvan  tribe  of  children  of  the  chase, 
Whose  young  unwaken'd  world  was  always  new; 
Nor  sword,  nor  sorrow,  yet  had  left  a  trace 


•252  LITE   OF    DANIEL    BOONE. 

On  her  un wrinkled  brow,  nor  could  you  view 
A  frown  on  nature's,  or  on  human  face. 
The  free-born  forest  found,  and  kept  them  free, 
And  fresh  as  is  a  torrent  or  a  tree. 

And  tall,  and  strong,  and  swift  of  foot  were  they, 
Beyond  the  dwarfing  city's  pale  abortions ; 
Because  their  thoughts  had  never  been  the  prey 
Of  care  or  gain ;  the  green  woods  were  their  portions 
No  sinking  spirits  told  them  they  grew  gray, 
No  fashion  made  them  apes  of  her  distortions. 
Simple  they  were ;  not  savage ;  and  their  rifles, 
Though  very  true,  were  not  yet  used  for  trifles. 

Motion  was  in  their  days;  rest  in  their  slumbers; 
And  cheerfulness,  the  handmaid  of  their  toil ; 
Nor  yet  too  many,  nor  too  few  their  numbers ; 
Corruption  could  not  make  their  hearts  her  soil  • 
The  lust,  which  stings ;  the  splendor  which  encumberai 
With  the  free  foresters  divide  no  spoil. 
Serene,  not  sullen,  were  the  solitudes 
Of  this  unsighmg  people  of  the  woods, 

THE   END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N  C  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


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